


The Story of Hazel Knight; Book Five - Ours

by CaspyCasp



Series: The Story of Hazel Knight [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 237,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5157827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaspyCasp/pseuds/CaspyCasp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hazel is back for her fifth year.<br/>It's exam year, and things aren't getting any easier.<br/>With a new DADA teacher not letting them do anything, and the returns of Voldemort not being recognized by the Ministry, she's at her wits end.<br/>Apart from the bad things, good things happen too... things are advancing with Fred.</p>
<p>Part Five of 'The Story of Hazel Knight'</p>
<p>Titles:<br/>I Love Magic - Book One<br/>More Danger and More Mysteries - Book Two<br/>Crushes are the Worst - Book Three<br/>Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes - Book Four<br/>Ours - Book Five<br/>Distance Means Nothing - Book Six<br/>Until the Very End - Book Seven</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Daisy Martin

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start reading, I would like to iterate that this is not my story. I did not write it, so I own nothing.  
> It is originally written on Quotev by bucky kentucky, and you can find her profile at www.quotev.com/arcticmaryams
> 
> I own nothing. All things Harry Potter related belong to J.K. Rowling, and anything else belongs to bucky kentucky.
> 
> Thank you.

**Ours**

**Chapter One: Daisy Martin**

 

During the summer in the Muggle world, most teenagers are out with their friends, not having a care in the world about anything, glad for the freedom, glad that school is over. Most teenagers do not shut themselves in their tiny room, feverishly flipping through the  _Daily Prophet_ for news, or sneaking down to the sitting room and listening in on the news whenever their aunt and uncle are watching it.

Then again, most teenagers in the Muggle world are not wizards. Most teenagers don't know who Lord Voldemort is, nor do they care, and therefore they do not know or care that he's returned.

But I am a wizard, I do know and I do care, and since I'm living in the Muggle world and have no connection to the wizard world, I'm forced to read the  _Daily Prophet,_ which is filled with irrelevant rubbish and cruel jokes about Harry, and listen in on the Muggle news for anything that could be traced to Voldemort, which is just as useless as reading the  _Daily Prophet_. I would be getting updates from my friends, except their letters are becoming more and more useless, to the point that even Fred constantly calling me 'love' and 'babe' doesn't make me very happy any more. All it does is annoy me, at this point.

One evening, I'm in the entrance hallway, trying to listen to the news, when Candy comes through the door, and upon seeing what I'm doing, smirks. The kind of smirk that makes me realize I'm screwed.

"Hazel, are you listening in on the news  _again_?" she asks, loud enough for the Martins to hear in the sitting room, I grimace.

"Fuck you," I hiss at her, which is all I have time to say before Uncle Gabriel bursts through the door, looking furiously at me.

I straighten up, face him squarely, show no expression on my face. I refuse to let him think I'm scared.

"What was that you said, sweetie?" he asks of Candy.

"She's trying to listen to the news, Dad," she repeats, her smirk widening.

The reason the Martins hate me listening to the news so much is because I'm a wizard. I'm not keen to tell them the real reason why I'm listening - because the most powerful Dark wizard of all time has returns and I'm trying to see if any abnormal thing on the news could be linked back to him and anything he may be doing now that he's back - so I've just told them I'm interested in  _their_ world. Obviously, they didn't buy that for a second, and are now convinced that I'm a spy for some wizarding cult that's dedicated to bringing the Muggle world down. Don't ask me why they think a wizarding cult would be asking a fifteen year old girl to be spying for them, I'm still trying to make sense of that myself.

"I  _was,_ " I snap. "Until you lot decided to interrupt."

Then I bite down on my tongue. That was a big mistake. Uncle Gabriel turns to face me, his eyes narrowing. Whenever he does that - in fact, whenever he makes a lot of facial expression - he looks positively comical, but it loses its humour when he starts hitting me. He takes a few steps forward, so that he's uncomfortably close to me.

"What did I tell you about listening to the news?"

"What did I tell you about personal space?" I retort, taking two large steps back, but Candy pushes me back toward him. Realizing that this is a losing game, I stand my ground this time, even when he takes a step forward.

"Now you listen here, girl, and listen well," he says, pointing a threatening finger at me. "I've put up with a lot of shit from you, I've sacrificed a lot for you. Driving you from King's Cross and picking up your disgusting little boyfriend along with you, I've fed you, clothed you, I've given you and that stupid owl of yours a lot of freedom, I've done everything. But if you're putting my life, my family, my  _world_ in danger, don't think I'll hesitate for even a second to kick you out. Don't think it for one second."

He grabs hold of my wrist, squeezing it so tightly I'm sure it'll leave a mark. I try to fight out of his grasp, but it's useless.

"Let go of me!" I shout. "Let go of me now!"

But all he does is hold on tighter, and when I continue to fight against it, he slaps me in the face, and it's his grip on my wrist that keeps me from falling over.

"Stop it! Stop struggling, you useless, pathetic girl!" he hisses, and when I still do not stop, he punches me in the jaw, and finally I stop, blinking quickly.

"You'll stop meddling, you'll stop eavesdropping, or I'll leave you out on the streets without a second thought," he whispers. "Is that understood?"

When I defiantly do not say anything, he punches me again, this time in the stomach.

" _Is that understood_?" he repeated, his tone almost deadly.

"Ye - yes," I mumble.

He slams me in the face again.

"What was that? I can't hear you,"

"Yes," I repeat, louder this time. "It's understood."

He releases me at once, and I collapse against the wall.

"Good," is all he says, and without a second glance at me, returns into the living room.

"Better luck next time, Knight," Candy hisses in my ear, and I lose it.

I reach for my wand, and point it at her throat.

"Not. Another. Word," I say in a quiet, threatening tone.

For what feels like ages, we stare into each others, my wand pointed at her throat. Despite the pain, I'm completely still my body tense, never shaking or wavering. My face is set and my gaze hard, while hers is more scared than I've ever seen her. The news is on, like background music in my ears, but I'm not listening, I don't care any more. All I'm thinking of is getting the revenge I've so longed for ever since - well, ever since the Martins took me in, really.

Then finally, Candy lets out a long, loud, piercing shriek. I realize she's screaming for Uncle Gabriel, and my anger and bitterness turns to fear. My instinct is to run, but I don't have time to run, barely have time to point my wand away from her throat before both Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Daisy burst through the door.

They look from the wand in my hand, to the terrified expression on her face and shaking body. It's not all that hard to figure out. Aunt Daisy lets out a scream like Candy's and hurries over to her daughter, but Uncle Gabriel's attention is solely on me.

"You," he spits hatefully. " _You!_ "

He takes a fistful of the fabric of my shirt in each hand, picks me up, slams me against the wall.

"What have I told you about using  _that_  in the house! What did I just tell you, you worthless piece of shit!" he screams at me, punching and slapping me again and again and again. "I _told_ you not to use it in the house! I  _told_ you not to threaten my family. I  _told_ you, bitch, and look at what you did!"

He throws me to the floor, kicking me over and over.

"That's it! That is  _it_! I'm done, I'm not going to take this any more!" he yells. "You're out of here, I want you out of this house  _now_!" _  
_

I stare at him in shock, my ears ringing. I want to move, I want to stand, but I can't. Whether it's from shock or the pain, I can't tell.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go!" he yells, kicking me in the side. "Pack up your stuff and go!"

It registers that I have to move. I have to keep going, no matter how much it hurts. I've just managed to sit up straight when Aunt Daisy speaks up.

"No, Gabriel! The girl can't leave!" she says, her voice shaking. "At least, not yet."

The hallway becomes so quiet that you can hear a pin drop. Aunt Daisy, the woman who announces daily how much she despises me and how much she wants me out of the house, who always murmurs insults whenever I walk by, who insists that I'm just another burden in life, who curses the day that I ended up under her rood - defending me? Wanting me to stay?

Uncle Gabriel is the first to speak.

"Daisy - come now - Daisy, please - she just - she hurt our  _daughter_!"

"Didn't even do anything," I mumble.

"I understand what the girl did," she says stiffly. "But she still stays."

"But why - why would you even - you  _hate_ her - we hate her! She almost killed your daughter, and you want to let her off?" Uncle Gabriel says, at a loss.

"I never said I wanted to let her off," Aunt Daisy shakes her head. "Punish her all you'd like, do whatever you want, I don't care, but she stays."

"Daisy, please, see reason-"

" _The girl stays, Gabriel_."

"Could you at least explain  _why_ -" Uncle Gabriel begins, but Aunt Daisy cuts him off.

"Fine, how about this: if she goes, I go," she says, and my eyes widen.

Why is she so intent on keeping me here, so intent that she would take such a risk?

"Daisy!"

"Mum, what are you doing?" Candy asks, and that is the first time she speaks ever since I put my wand to her throat. Aunt Daisy ignores her.

"Daisy, please, you're being ridiculous!" Uncle Gabriel insists.

Aunt Daisy doesn't seem to care that he thinks so.

"It's your choice, Gabriel." she says firmly.

"Daisy, please - please don't-" but he realizes that Aunt Daisy isn't going to relent, and sighs, saying, "Fine. The girl - the girl stays."

"Good," Aunt Daisy nods.

"But I can still punish her?"

"As much as you like," Aunt Daisy replies, and walks back into the sitting room, Candy right behind her.

When the door closes, it hits me that Aunt Daisy did not look at me once.

Uncle Gabriel looks at me, hatred clear in his eyes, and I know what I'm really in for it now.

 

***

 

What could be hours or days later, I limp back into my room, closing the door behind me, collapsing into my bed, allowing myself to cry more freely than I did before. I try not to let my sobs sound too loud, but when my attempt at restraining myself does not work, I bury my face in my pillow to muffle the noise.

When my sobs die down to quiet choking noises, and the pain subsides to something bearable, I raise my head. My pillow is soaked. I let out a sigh, sit cross-legged on my bed, running my fingers through my hair.

I know I should inspect the damage, try to see how to cover up all that has happened to me, but I can't bring myself to stand up and look at myself in front of the mirror when I'm in such a horrible state, and all I can think about is how much I hate the Martins. Candy for starting all the shit that just happened and Uncle Gabriel for being an abusive pig and Aunt Daisy for caring a suspicious amount one second, then being ridiculously indifferent the next and I hate Voldemort even more for killing my parents and getting me stuck with these people because right now I could be with my parents and I could be happy.

I hate everything.

Just then, there's a knock on the door, and Aunt Daisy walks through the door. Whenever she enters my room, she always does this - knocks and then walks in anyway. It's as though she's mocking me, pretending to be giving me respect and privacy, then cruelly reminding me that I'm never going to get that around here.

I wipe the tears on my face quickly, but it's no use. She knows I've been crying - everyone in the house knows I've been crying.

"What d'you want?"

She glares at me. "I'm just here to let you know the reason I've made it so that you can stay."

I just look at her. I realize that I'm much more curious than I'm letting on.

"It is not because I care about you, so please never fool yourself into believing that I do. I do not care about you. I have never cared about you, nor will I ever care about you. I hate you; always have, always will."

I still don't do anything but stare at her.

"It's because of your mother, my sister," she continues, and my brow furrows slightly, the first sign of expression I've shown. "When I found out she was a witch, I was jealous. So jealous that I shut her out of my life, started treating her cruelly. But I still loved her, I always did, I always will. She's my sister, how can I not? When she died, I was devastated. So, when those -  _people_ \- showed up and left you in her care, I swore that I would keep you safe while you are under my roof. Until you're seventeen - that's when you lot become an adult. I will not act like I love you or care about you, but I will keep you safe until that time. For Jasmine. Is that clear?"

I answer her question with another. "Does Uncle Gabriel know that?"

She stares at me for a long time, her green eyes boring into my brown ones. Finally, she looks away from me, turns around, walks out of the room, closing the door behind her without answering my question. But from the way she looked at me, I could tell the answer was no.


	2. Conversations with Candy

**Ours**

**Chapter Two: Conversations with Candy**

 

I sit in silence for a long time after Aunt Daisy leaves, not thinking anything, not feeling anything, just sitting. Finally, I decide that I'm going to have to get back with reality and check the damage that Uncle Gabriel has caused.

I get up from the bed, walk to the mirror, take off my shirt and trousers to inspect the damage. A lot of bruises on my stomach and thighs, but they'll be easy enough to cover. The ones on my arms are what I'm more concerned about. I'm going to have to start wearing long sleeves, but that'll be really suspicious. People don't often wear long sleeves during the summer, especially one as hot as this one, but what choice do I have?

But first, I need a nice shower. I grab a towel, take off what's left of my clothes, wrap the towel around my body, and hurry to the bathroom.

I take my time in the shower, letting the water run down my body for a while before actually starting to wash myself. I walk out feeling refreshed and relaxed, more prepared to face what's coming.

Except that I had no idea what was coming, for when I walk back in my room, Candy is sitting on my bed, apparently waiting for me. I let out a tiny scream when I see her, wrapping the towel more tightly around myself.

"Hello," she says calmly, upon seeing me.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I demand furiously.

"I want to talk to you," she replies, as though this should be obvious.

"Yeah, right," I scoff. "And why do you want to talk to me? To gloat some more? Or maybe you're here to talk about how disappointed you are that Uncle Gabriel didn't get to kick me. That damn Aunt Daisy, always getting in the way, huh?"

"Actually, I wanted to have an actual conversation with you," she shakes her head. "A real conversation. No hatred, or anything."

"Right, well, could it wait until I'm not naked?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay," she shrugs, then walks out of the room.

I dry off quickly, throw on some clothes, then open the door again, not expecting Candy to still be there. Much to my surprise, she is.

"So, can we talk?" she asks.

"I suppose," I say, sighing, stepping out of the way to let her in.

She sits back down on my bed, while I sit on the tiny desk, crossing my arms and studying her carefully, trying to figure out what her motives might be. Candy looks around the tiny room, notices that Midnight's cage is empty.

"Where's that owl of yours?"

I actually laugh at that - a very bitter one, mind you.

"Yes, because you actually went out of your way to have a conversation with me without hatred, to talk about my owl," I say sarcastically. "Yeah, right, totally."

"I was just asking. Haven't you ever heard of small talk? Or do you lot not have it?" I just narrow my eyes at her, but she doesn't seem to notice or care. "So, where is he? Midday, or whatever his name was."

"Midnight," I correct her irritably. "And he's out hunting."

"He hunts?"

"All owls hunt," I snap.

"Huh, I didn't know that," Candy says.

"Yeah, well, there's a lot you don't know, Candy."

She looks at me for a while, eyebrows raised.

"So much for no hatred, then," she finally says.

"Okay, come  _on_!" I blurt out. "You can't - you can't just be out to get me for fourteen fucking years, make all this happen to me-" I show her the bruises on my stomach, arms, and thighs - "then just waltz in and demand a conversation without hatred, as if nothing fucking happened! You can't make a person's life hell, then expect them to easily be able to have small talk with you! You can't just fucking do  _that_!"

"I wasn't out to get you," she says quietly. "I didn't make your life hell. You're exaggerating."

Anger runs through me, so powerful that I almost reach for my wand. How  _dare_ she tell me that I'm exaggerating? After everything she'd done? Everything she put me through?

"Do you not see the bruises? Do you not see the fucking bruises? You've been the cause of shit like this so many times!"

"It's not my fault Dad's abusive," she shakes her head.

"But you know he's abusive, yet you still rat me out, knowing what he'll do to me!"

"Because I'm bitter," she says. "If he does it to me, he has to do it to you."

"What?" I say, and for a moment, I forget my anger. "What do you mean?"

"He abuses me, too," Candy says quietly.

"No - no, he doesn't! I would've seen him, or heard, or-"

"He does it in my room, and closes the door," she interrupts. "He loves me enough to not make it a public display, I guess. And I'm quiet about it, unlike you."

"I would've seen the marks he-" but as I say it, I notice what she's wearing; long sleeves and trousers.

"You're not the only one who knows how to hide," Candy shrugs.

"Okay - but - that't still not fair! It's still not right and fair for you to make other people suffer, just because you're suffering!" I say, determined to be angry. "And that's not even the only thing you did! You made it so that I had no friends!"

"You had Harry," she points out.

"One friend!  _One fucking friend_! Compare that to the amount of friends I  _could've_ had if it weren't for you!" _  
_

"But Harry - Harry's fucking loyal! He's kind and smart and he's always been there for you! He cares about you and he loves you - like, he really fucking loves you. For God's sake, Hazel, the friendship you have with Harry is worth more than all of the friendships I stopped you from having! And you have loads of friends now, and they all care and love you and fuck, Hazel, how could you comp[lain about not having friends?"

"I don't have  _loads_ of friends, and the ones I do have don't have anything to do with you, so why bring them up? You still made my childhood miserable, and that's what we're talking about!" I say stubbornly. "Let's not forget that you and your stupid friends bullied me all the time!"

"I was immature, okay?" she stands up, now looking exasperated. "I was immature and my parents, like, raised me to hate you -  but I never did, not really - I was jealous! I was so fucking jealous, and every time you visit during the summer, I get even more jealous!"

I laugh at that. A long, loud, hysterical laugh.

"Jealous! Yeah, yeah, good one!" I say, probably sounding insane, getting to my feet as well. "Let's go and be jealous of the fucking orphan who's stuck living with her abusive aunt and uncle and bullying cousin! Yeah, how lucky is she?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Hazel!" she says, furious. "You're pretty and funny and smart and  _you're a fucking wizard_! You can use magic! You've even got a fucking wand! How can you not be jealous when you're cousin's a wizard and you're normal? Let's not forget all those friends you have!"

"I don't have a lot of friends!" I insist, getting annoyed, but a part of me is shocked that she thinks this.

"Maybe not, but they care! They go out of their way to see you, they always really want your around! You never have to doubt if they love you, because they make it obvious they do! They invite you over and they send you letters! You guys have to use  _owls_ to communicate! It probably takes ages to even get each other's letters and it's a lot of work - you can't just phone each other - but they still do it because they think you're worth it! Like, fuck, do you know how badly I wish I had friends like that? Do you know how badly I wish I felt as loved as you do? Sure, things here are shit for you, but at least you know that there's a whole different world that wants you with them, and that you're always going to find your way back to them. Always. I don't have that! Things are always going to look better for you than they will for me, because, for the most part, you're everything I'm not and that I want to be!"

My eyes widen, and my anger fades as quickly as it came. I suddenly realize how tense my muscles are and relax them, my posture slouching. I rub my face blearily, not sure what to say to that.

"And - don't -  don't try to tell me things are going to get better for me, and I'll find my own world and people that love me that much," she says quietly. "Because it won't help. Besides, I already know that. I know I'll find it. I have to. I  _have_ to."

I just look from her to the floor for a really long time, not sure of what to say, unable to look at her for long periods of time. I'm about to say something, when she mumbles something, so quietly I can't hear.

"Wha - what was that?" I ask. "I didn't quite catch it."

"I - I said that I was wondering if we could start over," she says finally, sighing. "I know, like you said, that we can't just act like nothing ever happened, but that's not what I'm asking for. I'm not asking for you to forgive me, not really. I'm just asking for another chance. Just one. If I fuck it up, then feel free to hate me more than ever, and I know I'll really really  _really_ deserve it. Just - please?"

There's another long silence, in which I stare at her for a long time, studying her face carefully. A part of me thinks this could be a trick, some prank her and her friends dreamed up, except everything she'd said and done seems to genuine There's no way she's that good of an actor.

But then there's another problem: I'm not sure I  _want_ to give her another chance. Does she deserve it? Will she be able to kick her old habits? Can I really put aside fourteen years of hatred and bitterness just like that?

But that's not what she's asking for, is it? Not necessarily forgiveness, just the chance to prove herself a better person, the chance to show me why I should forgive her in the future. I do not have to forgive her right now, I don't have to start being friends with her and talk to her all the time. I do not have to spend all my time with her. I just need to be civil, be open enough to give her another chance.

So, I decide to take a risk, and say, "Okay. We can start over. But you get one chance, is that clear? Just one. You fuck it up, and it'll be  _me_ who'll be out to get  _you_. Understood?" _  
_

"Understood," she nods, smiling at me, and something about her smile is contagious, so that I can't help but smile back at her.

"I'll see around, then, Hazel," she nods.

"Well, obviously," I agree. "We're kind of living in the same house."

Candy laughs, and I decide she must be one of those people who makes other people smile and laugh just by smiling and laughing, because my smile widens, and I let out a chuckle.

We shake hands, and share the awkwardest three second hug, and when we pull away we make a silent agreement that we should not hug - at least, not for a long time, since we clearly have not reached that stage. She waves, walks out of my room, closing the door behind me.

I walk over to my bed, collapse on it. I stare up at the ceiling for a long time, before I finally fall asleep. My last thought before I drift off is how funny it is that you can live with some people for as long as fourteen years, and not really know them at all.


	3. Dudley Demented

**Ours**

**Chapter Three: Dudley Demented**

 

Ever since that night, the Martins have kept me on a sort of lock down. Not a complete one, though; I'm still allowed to walk around the house as I like, I just can't leave it. What they don't know is that I still go out almost everyday, thanks to Candy.

We've taken a bunch of her old clothing that we've both outgrown, and tied them together to make a rope. Whenever I want to go outside, all that needs to be done is tie one end of the rope to the leg of her desk, and throw the other out her window, then I just climb down. After I'm done, Candy puts the rope back in her room, waiting for me to return. The only hard part is getting her attention to throw the rope back down, and actually climbing back up.

Flipping through a Quidditch book Ron had given me two years ago for my birthday, I hear a loud cracking noise. I almost drop my book. I recognize the noise.

It sounds like someone Apparating. Or maybe Disapparating?

I almost get tangled in my blanket as I rush over to the window. I can't get a good enough view from here and going into Aunt Daisy and Uncle Gabriel's room is absolutely forbidden. I try Candy's and the guest room, but no such luck. I'll have to sneak outside. And quickly, I'm starting to hear shouting, but it sounds like Vernon Dursley, so he'll probably be yelling at Harry - maybe he thinks the noise disturbing the quiet of the evening is his fault.

I hurry down the stairs, trying to find Candy, but not calling out to her, because it'll look suspicious; aunt Daisy and Uncle Gabriel don't know about our new found friendship.

I catch her just about to walk out the door.

"Mum, Dad, I'm going to go hang out with my friends, all right?"

"Okay," Uncle Gabriel calls from the sitting room.

"Have fun, sweetie," says Aunt Daisy.

"Candy, wait," I whisper desperately. When she looks my way, raising an eyebrow, I add, "I need to go out. Like, now."

"All right, just make it quick," she sighs, hurrying up the stairs behind me.

"I will, don't worry," I say earnestly.

Once in her room, Candy gets the rope, ties it around the leg of her desk, and throws it out the window. Carefully, I climb over the window, so that I'm dangling, hanging onto the windowsill. Cautiously, I grip onto the rope with one hand, then the other. Using each knot as a footrest, I make my slow descent to the ground, jumping the last foot.

I give her a thumbs up to say thank you, before running up to the road, looking up and down Privet Drive. Nothing. Except for a body striding furiously down the road. Upon squinting at it carefully, I realize that it's-

Harry! Maybe he knows something.

I run to catch up with him, calling out to him when I'm close. He stops, tense, before turning around. Once he realizes it's me, however, he relaxes, but not much.

"You heard it, then? The noise," I say promptly. "It sounded like-"

"Like someone Apparating," he nods. "Or Disapparating. I was out there when I heard it," he gestures vaguely behind us.

"You were? Did you see who it was?" I ask eagerly.

"No," he shakes his head. "I jumped up to see, but I was hiding in the flowerbed under the sitting room window to listen to the news. I ended up hitting my head on the windowsill-" I wince at that -"and Uncle Vernon heard me, and I had taken out my wand, and he was yelling at me to put it away and he started choking me so I had to put it back, and by the time I could get away, whoever it was long gone, apparently. I think they were Disapparating."

"but why would someone be Apparating or Disapparating here?" I ask. "Why would a wizard be here in the first place?"

"D'you think they'd be here for us?" he asks.

"For you, more like it," I blurt out.

He looks annoyed at the comment, but he knows he can't argue with it.

"But  _why_ , is the question?" I continue. "If they're here - or  _were_ here for you - why wouldn't they show themselves? They're definitely on our side, I think, so why hide?"

"What if it's Dobby?" Harry says suddenly. "Maybe he didn't want to show himself, because - well, he's an elf, isn't he? Muggles aren't supposed to know about house-elves. Maybe he's hiding out in my room, waiting for me to come in, like he did just before second year."

"Maybe," I concede. "It might make sense. But why would he do that? I don't think he'd do something like this, and risk exposure, unless it was something important. Unless he was giving you a warning, like last time. What would he be warning you about?"

"Well, I mean,  _Voldemort's_ back," he says. "There'd be a lot to warn me about. He could've overheard Dumbledore discussing something and he brought me up, or something."

"True," I nod.

We take the normal route, our destination being the neighbourhood park. The park is as deserted as the streets, and we sink into the only two swings that Dudley Dursley and his friends had not bashed up.

We sit in silence, staring at the ground, lost in our own thoughts.

"Has anyone written anything  _useful_ lately?" I ask, after a while. _  
_

"What d'you think?" Harry replies darkly. "You?"

"What d'you think?" I repeat.

Harry makes a noise of frustration, and we're silent once more.

Ever since the beginning of summer, the letters we've been receiving have become less and less informative, and have basically turned into weekly reminders that they expect we'll be seeing them quite soon. I have a stack of new letters that I haven't even bothered to open, because I basically know exactly what they're going to say. All I ever do with them is glare at them, now. A month full of confused, bitter feelings, exclusive best friends who don't seem to be giving you too much thought, an abusive aunt and uncle, and a best friend who shares your bitterness - probably even feels it more intensely - does not help for a good summer.

My mind wanders to the stack of copies of the  _Daily Prophet_ on my cluttered desk, and I feel a stab of guilt. Harry does not know about what they're saying about him. He's getting the Prophet, but only to fruitlessly check if there's news of Voldemort. He only looks at the front, before throwing it away. His mentions in there are never front cover. They're mostly cruel side jokes thrown in random articles - things you wouldn't find unless you are looking, like I am.

I've been trying to find out how to tell him, but - as fake and cliché as it may sound - the time never seems to be right. But I decide I'm going to have to tell him sooner or later. He's going to find out eventually, and it'd be better to hear it from me now, then someone who thinks he's a nutter later.

"Harry?" I say, looking over at him. He looks up, raising his eyebrows to let me know he's listening. "Look, there's something I've been meaning to tell you-"

I'm interrupted by someone singing a loud, crude song, while a group pf people laugh. We look round to the source of the noise, and see the silhouettes of a group of people making their way across the park. I bite my lip nervously when I make out who they are.

The figure in the front is Dudley Dursley, making his way home with his faithful gang. Since Dudley had become some sort of boxing champion, he was as vast as ever, but now he's mostly muscle, instead of fat.

Vernon Dursley would delightedly tell anyone who would listen, but I, while completely unafraid of Dudley, do not think it's a cause of celebration that Dudley can now punch people harder and with more accuracy. Children all around the neighbourhood are terrified - even more terrified of that Potter boy, who, they'd been warned, is a hardened hooligan and attends St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, more than the Knight girl, who was known to be aggressive, and had been kicked out of several reform schools.

I watch Harry as he watches the group, knowing that he wants a fight with them, knowing that he'll want revenge. Knowing how it feels, that it's almost impossible to resist the urge to start a fight. Harry looks like he's about to call out to them, but he catches my eye at the last minute, and the warning look I give him stops him.

Soon after Dudley and his gang are out of sight, Harry and I stand up. Vernon had threatened to lock Harry in the shed if he ever came in after Dudley, and, knowing Vernon, he's not bluffing.

Seeing that he's scowling, I try to cheer Harry up, but it only ever works for a couple of seconds, so eventually I give up, letting us walk in silence.

I notice how quickly he's walking, and I know he wants to catch up with Dudley and his gang.

 _Please don't do something stupid,_ I plead silently.  _Oh, please please, don't do anything stupid._

Halfway along Magnolia Road, they're in view again, still saying their goodbyes at the entrance of Magnolia Crescent.

Harry steps into the shadow of a large lilac tree, pulling me with him.

"Harry..." I groan, but he gestures for me to be quiet, much to my annoyance.

"... squealed like a pig, didn't he?" Malcolm is saying, to the guffaws of others.

"Nice right hook, Big D," Piers adds.

"I think I prefer 'Dinky Duddydums'," I murmur to Harry, unable to help myself. "Or 'Dudders'. Mostly 'Dinky Duddydums', though."

"Same time tomorrow?" asks Dudley.

"Round my place," Gordan says, "my parents'll be out."

"See you then," says Dudley.

"Bye, Dud!"

"See ya, Big D!"

Once the gang has moved on, Harry sets off again, walking quickly, with the clear intention of catching up to Dudley. I start praying that he won't do something stupid, but I know that it's extremely likely that he's going to do something stupid.

Once Dudley is in hailing distance, Harry calls, "Hey, Big D!"

"No..." I whisper, grimacing.

Dudley turns, grunting, "Oh, it's you,"

"Don't sound so disappointed," I mutter.

"How long have you been 'Big D' then?" Harry asks.

"Shut it," Dudley snarls, turning away.

"Cool name," Harry continues, grinning and falling into step with his cousin, which leaves me no choice but to fall into step with the both of them. "But you'll always be Ickle Diddykins to me."

I laugh in spite of myself. I forgot about that particular nickname,

"I said, SHUT IT!" says Dudley, his ham-like hands curled into fists.

"Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?"

"Shut your face,"

"You don't tell her to shut her face. What about 'Popkin' and 'Dinky Duddydums', can I use them then?" Harry says.

Dudley says nothing. Clearly, the effort of keeping himself from hitting Harry is taking all of his self-control.

"Harry, please," I say, looking up at him earnestly.

Despite the situation, I find myself thinking about how he's changed. We used to be the same height, but now he's a few inches taller than me. He has the look of someone who has grown a lot in a small space of time, and his hair is more unkempt than ever before.

Harry ignores me.

"So, who've you been beating up tonight?" Harry asks, his grin fading. "Another ten year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago-"

"He was asking for it," Dudley snarls.

"Yeah? What did he do?" I demand, flaring up immediately.

"He cheeked me,"

"Oh, did he? Did he tell you that you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? Because that's not cheek, Ickle Diddykins, that's fact," I snap.

Harry gives me an approving look. A muscle is twitching in Dudley's jaw. One part of - a decidedly small part - regrets my outburst, knows that I should be trying to stop any fighting, not keep it going. The other part - the larger part - feels enormous satisfaction at the fact that I'd pissed Dudley off.

"Think you lot are all big carrying that thing, don't you?" Dudley says after a few seconds.

"What thing?" asks Harry.

"That - that thing you're hiding,"

Harry grins again.

"You're not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose, if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time."

He pulls out his wand. Dudley stares sideways at it, nervous.

"You're not allowed," Dudley says at once. "I know you've not. You'll get kicked out of that freak school you two go to."

"How do you know they haven't changed the rules, Bid D?"

"They haven't," Dudley shakes his head, but he doesn't look too convinced.

Harry laughs softly.

"Harry, please, don't be stupid," I plead silently, but Dudley is starting to get worked up, which was Harry's goal.

"You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?" snarls Dudley.

"Whereas you need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten year-old. You know that boxing title you keeping banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?"

"He was sixteen, for your information," Dudley snaps, "and was out cold for twenty minutes after I finished with him and was trice as heavy as you. You just wait 'til I tell Dad you had that thing out-"

"Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle little boxing champion afraid of Harry's nasty wand?"

"Harry!" I say warningly.

"Not this brave at night, are you?" Dudley sneers.

"This is night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this."

I start laughing in spite of myself, trying with immense difficulty to stifle it, due to the fact that I'm trying to stop any potential fights.

"I mean when you're in bed!"

This makes me stop laughing. Dudley has stopped walking. Harry and I stop, too, staring at Dudley in confusion. From the little I can see of his face in the dark, he's wearing a strangely triumphant look.

"What d'you mean, I'm not brave when I'm in bed?" Harry asks, completely nonplussed. "What am I supposed to be afraid of, my pillows, or something?"

"I heard you talking in your sleep," Dudley says breathlessly. "Last night. Moaning."

I'm still puzzled, and I look over at Harry.

"What d'you mean?" Harry says again, but something in his expression has changed.

I realize what Dudley means; Harry was having nightmares last night. Probably about-

"'Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric - your boyfriend?" Dudley says, mocking Harry in a high-pitched whimpering voice, before letting out a harsh bark of laughter.

"I - you're lying," Harry says automatically, but there is no other way Dudley would know about Cedric.

"Dudley, shut up," I whisper.

"Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boohoo!"

"Shut up," Harry says quietly. "Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you."

Dudley does not seem to have the intention to stop, so I add warningly, "Dudley, shut up. Don't be stupid, just  _shut the fuck up_."

"Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to - don't you point that thing at me!"

Dudley backs into the alley wall, and Harry advances on him, his wand pointed directly at Dudley's heart.

"Harry," I say, my voice hushed. "Don't. Please, please don't."

Once again, he ignores me.

"Don't ever talk about that again," Harry snarls. "D'you understand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!" Dudley demands.

"I said, do you understand me?" Harry repeats, and I bite my lip nervously, wondering if I'll have to jump between the two to stop this.

"Harry, this isn't-"

"Point it somewhere else!"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" Harry yells.

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM-" Dudley begins, but then he gives an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he'd been doused by icy water.

Something has happened to the night; the star-strewn indigo sky is suddenly pitch black and lightless - the stars, the moon, all the street lamps seemed to have gone out. The distant rumble of cars and the whisper of trees is now gone. The balmy evening is now piercingly cold, and we're surrounded in total, impenetrable darkness.

For a split second, I think that Harry's anger was so intense that it had cause this. Then I regain my common sense; as far as I'm aware, at least, no wizard has the power to turn off the stars and the moon, let alone a fifteen year-old me.

I can only think of one thing that has the power to do all this, but I refuse to believe they're here. It's impossible. They can't be here... not in Little Whinging...

I turn my head in all directions, trying to see  _something_ , but the darkness presses on my eyes like a weightless veil.

Dudley's terrified voice breaks the silence.

"W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything," Harry says impatiently. "Shut up and don't move."

"I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I-"

"Dudley, shut  _up_!" I exclaim.

I continue fruitlessly trying to see something in the heavy darkness, the cold so intense that I keep shivering, so cold that I wish I had worn warmer clothing. But if the source is what I think it is, no amount of warm clothing would've stopped the feeling.

But it  _couldn't_ be them. The mere thought of it is ridiculous. It's  _impossible_. They could not possible be in  _Little Whinging_.

But it's the only logical explanation for all of this.

Just as this hits me, and the panic starts to set in, Dudley whimpers, "I'll t-tell Dad! W-where are you? What are you d-doing?"

"Will you shut up?" Harry hisses. "I'm trying to lis-"

He falls silent, for we've just heard the thing we've both been dreading. There's something in the alleyway apart from us, something taking long, hoarse, rattling breaths.

I start shaking violently, feel my way blindly to the wall, collapse against it, trying to take deep breaths to calm myself down, but with each breath my panic sets in even more.

"C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll hit you, I swear I will!"

"Dudley, shut-"

There's a  _wham_ noise, and the sound of a body falling onto the concrete.

"You moron, Dudley!"

"What happened?" I call out, hating that my voice is shaking so much.

"He hit me!" Harry says angrily, and if I wasn't so terrified, I'd be furious.

I can hear Dudley blundering away, hitting the fence. My heart nearly stops.

"DUDLEY, COME BACK!" I shriek. "YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"

There's a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley's footsteps stop. At the same moment, I feel a horrible creeping chill that could only mean one thing. There's more than one.

"DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!" Harry yells. "Wand!" he mutters frantically, and I remember an extremely crucial fact:  _I have a wand._

I start feeling wildly for it, and my hand finally closes around the handle.

I take it out, whisper, " _Lumos_!"

The tip of my wand ignites. It's not much in the heavy darkness, but it'll do. I point all around the concrete desperately, trying to find Harry's wand, as he's the only hope of fighting the Dementors.

"GO! JUST GO!" he yells at me. "GO HELP DUDLEY! THE SPELL IS ' _EXPECTO PATRONUM_ ' - THINK OF SOMETHING HAPPY!  _GO_!"

I nod, though he can't see me, and start running in the direction that I had heard Dudley, repeating it over and over in my mind:  _Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum._

And one second I'm running down the alleyway, the next I'm lifted off my feet, slammed into the alley wall, several feet off the ground. White mist is swirling around, blocking my vision, but I fight it enough to be able to see the Dementor when I point my wand at it. I let out a scream, but then clamp my mouth shut, almost dropping my wand.

It closes its hand around my throat, and I struggle desperately to breathe, struggle to fight away the white mist, struggle to fight away the images of my father and mother dropping dead, struggle away the sound of high-pitched laughter and my mother screaming my father's name.

The spell. I need to remember the spell. And something happy, I need something happy. But what was the spell?

 _Expecto_ something. I try desperately to remember, but it's hard to concentrate when a Dementor has its scabby, rotted hand around your throat, and you're trying to turn you face away from it, meanwhile your using your freehand to cover your mouth, and its using its freehand to wrench it off your mouth. And all through that, you're reliving your worst memories.

 _Expecto Patronum_!  _That's_ the incantation. But I don't want to open my mouth to say it, because I know the Dementor will start to suck out my soul the moment I do. I remember that wizards are able to do magic without saying an incarnation out loud.

I point my wand at it, desperately thinking.  _Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!_ but nothing happens. The harder I try, the worst things seem to get. I remember that I need to think of something happy, and try to bring something to mind, but how could there possibly be anything happy in a world with Dementors?

Faces burst into my mind, bringing hope in their wake, but they disappear just as quickly, leaving me feeling more hopeless than ever. But I continue to try anyway, chanting  _Expecto Patronum!_ over and over in my head.

The Dementor seems to get tired of my attempts to fight, and takes it hands away from my own long enough to bat my wand away, before continuing to try to wrench my hand off my mouth. My wand clatters to the ground a few feet away, and that's officially when I lose all hope.

It hits me that I'm going to die here - no, I'm going to be worse than dead. I'll be alive, but a hollow, empty shell. I think I'd rather die. But then again, the Dementor's grip around my throat is getting tighter and tighter. Maybe I'll be lucky and be choked to death before it can get my hand away from my mouth.

I can feel myself blacking out, feel myself succumbing to the white mist, and all I can do is think dimly that I've let Harry and Dudley down.

And just as I'm about to black out completely, there's a burst of light to my left, clearing away all the mist in my mind. I turn my head just enough to squint and see who it is, and find that it's a silver stag, charging straight at me - no, straight at the Dementor.

The stag jumps at the Dementor, tackling it away from me, and I fall to the floor. Now able to breathe properly. I take great, shuddering gasps, shaking violently, trying to get myself together. And as it hits that I almost had my soul sucked out, relief spreads through me, and I watch as the silver stag takes out the Dementor that had Dudley, watch as the Dementors escape, watch as the light of the stag goes out. And just as it goes, I realize that that was Harry's Patronus. He did it.

Immediately, the night becomes warm once more, the light of the street lamps, the stars and the moon burst back to life, the sound is turned back on. And I'm so relieved I start to laugh hysterically, shaking horribly, and it takes a few minutes to realize that I'm crying, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Are you okay?" a voice asks, and I jump, stopping my laughter immediately, but it's only Harry, wearing a look of concern on his face.

"F-fine," I stutter, staggering to my feet.

I stumble around for a while, and Harry grabs onto me, waiting for me to regain my balance again. I take deep, long breaths, closing my eyes and counting to ten over and over again.

Finally, I stand up straight, let out a sigh, and say, "I'm fine now. Thank you."

I bend down to pick up my wand, stuff it into my pocket, and wipe away the tears on my face. Once I nod at Harry, we hurry over to Dudley, who's curled on the ground, whimpering and shaking.

As we bend over him to see if he's in a fit state to stand up, the absurdness, the impossibility of what just happened hits me. Dementors in  _Little Whinging._

Suddenly, we hear loud footsteps from behind us. I take out my wand again, squinting to see who it is. Mrs. Figg, our batty old neighbour, comes panting into sight. Her grizzled grey hair is escaping her hairnet, a clanking string shopping bag is swinging from her wrist and her feet are halfway out of her tartan carpet slippers. Harry and I hurriedly make to stow our wands away, but-

"Don't put it away, you idiots!" she shrieks. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to  _kill_ Mundungus Fletcher!"


	4. A Surprise Visit

**Ours**

**Chapter Four: A Surprise Visit**

 

I'm the first to get over my shock.

"Mrs. Figg? What are you - how do you - who's-?" I stutter, not sure which question I want to ask first. It doesn't matter, though, because she goes on ranting as if I'd never spoken.

"He left!" she exclaims, wringing her hands. "Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell out of the back of a broom! I told him I'd flay him alive if he want, and now look! Dementors! It's just lucky I put Mr. Tibbles on the case! But we haven't got time to stand around! Hurry, now, we've got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will  _kill_ him!"

"But-" Harry stutters. "You're - you're a witch?"

"I'm a squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight off Dementors? He left you completely without cover when I'd warned him-"

"This Mundungus has been following me? Hang on - it was him! He Disapparated in front of my house!" Okay, that's one question answered. Another question to replace it, though: Since when does Harry have people guarding him?

"Yes, yes, yes, but luckily I'd stationed Mr. Tibbles under a car just in case, and Mr. Tibbles came and warned me, but by the time I'd got to your house you'd gone - and now - oh, what's Dumbledore going to say?

"You!" she shrieks at Dudley, who's still slouched on the floor. "Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!"

I'm too surprised to tell her that Dudley's not quite in a fit state to get his fat bottom off the ground at all, let alone quickly.

"Dumbledore? You - you know Dumbledore?" I ask.

"Of course, I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore?" she says, as though this should be obvious. "But come on - I'll be no help if they come back, I've never so much as transfigured a teabag."

She bends down, seizes one of Dudley's massive arms in her wizened hands and tugs.

"Get up, you useless lump,  _get up_!"

But Dudley either could not or would not move. He remains on the ground, trembling and ashen-faced, his mouth shut very tight.

"I'll do it," Harry says, before bending down and taking hold of Dudley's arms.

He heaves, and with enormous effort he manages to pull Dudley to his feet. Dudley seems to be on the verge of fainting. His eyes are rolling in their sockets and sweat is beading his face. The moment lets go, he sways dangerously.

"Hurry up!" Mrs. Figg says hysterically.

Harry pulls Dudley's massive left arm around his shoulder, sagging under his weight.

"Here, I'll help," I say, hurrying forward and putting Dudley's right arm around my own shoulders. Despite each other's help, we still sink a little under his weight. Mrs. Figg totters in front of us, peering around the corner anxiously.

"Keep your wands out," she says to Harry and I, as we enter Wisteria Walk. "Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there's going to be hell to pay anyway, we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery... this is exactly what Dumbledore was afraid of - What's that at the end of the street? Oh, it's just Mr. Prentice... don't put your wand away, don't I keep telling you I'm no use?"

I'd like to tell her that it's very difficult to hold a wand steady and carry Dudley at the same time, but that'd probably be a waste of energy, so I don't bother.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a Squib, Mrs. Figg?" Harry asks, panting. "All those times I came round to your house - why didn't you say anything?"

"Dumbledore's orders," she replies. "I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I'm sorry I gave you such a miserable time, Harry, but the Dursleys would have never let you visit if they'd thought you were enjoying yourself. It wasn't easy, you know... but oh my word," she says tragically, wringing her hands once more, "when Dumbledore hears about this - how could Mundungus have left, he was supposed to be on duty until midnight - where is he? How am I going to tell Dumbledore what's happened? I can't Apparate."

"We've both got owls, you can borrow one of them," I offer, groaning, wondering if my spine is going to snap under Dudley's weight.

"Hazel, you don't understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own way of detecting under-age magic, they'll know already, you mark my words."

"But I was doing it to get rid of Dementors. I had to use magic - they're going to be more concerned about Dementors floating around Wisteria Walk, surely?"

I wince, partly from the pain, partly from his words. He'd understand if I had told him about the  _Daily Prophet_ articles, how the Ministry is clearly out to get him. I find it hard to believe that the Ministry would be so awful, but the  _Daily Prophet_ articles are proof in black and white.

"Oh, my dear, I wish it were so, but I'm afraid - MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

There's a loud crack, and a strong smell of alcohol mingled with stale tobacco fills the air as a squat, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat materializes right in front of us. He has short, bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair, and bloodshot, baggy eyes that give him the look of a basset hound. He's also carrying a silvery bundle that I recognize as an Invisibility Cloak.

"'Sup, Figgy?" he says, staring from Mrs. Figg, to Harry, to Dudley, to me, then back again. "What 'apppened to staying undercover?"

"I'll give you undercover!" she cries. "Dementors, you useless, skiving, sneak thief!"

"Dementors?" Mundungus repeats, aghast, "Dementors, 'ere?"

"Yes, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!" shrieks Mrs. Figg. "Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!"

"Blimey," Mundungus says weakly, looking from Mrs. Figg, to Harry, and back again. "Blimey, I-"

"And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to leave?  _Didn't I_?"

"I - well, I -" Mundungus splutters, looking extremely uncomfortable. "It - it was a very good business opportunity, see-" Mrs. Figg raises her string bag and whacks Mundungus around the face and neck with it. Judging by the noise it made, it's full of cat food.

"Ouch - gerroff - gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!"

"Yes - they - have!" Mrs. Figg yells, swinging the bag of cat food at every inch of Mundungus that he could reach. "And - it - had - better - be - you - and - you - can - tell - him - why - you - weren't - here - to - help!"

"Keep your 'airnet on!" Mundungus says, arms over his head. "I'm going, I'm going!"

And with another crack, he vanishes.

"I hope Dumbledore murders him!" Mrs. Figg declares furiously. "Now, come on, you two, what are you waiting for?"

Neither of us waste our breath telling her that we can hardly breathe under Dudley's weight. Instead, we continue to trudge forward. I start to wonder if my spine will end up snapping.

"I'll take you to the door," says Mrs. Figg, as we tun into Privet Drive. "Just in case there are more of them around... oh my word, what a catastrophe... and you had to fight them off yourself... and Dumbledore said we were to keep you from doing magic at all costs... well, there's no use crying over spilt potion, I suppose... but the cat's among the pixies now."

"So... Dumbledore's... been having... me followed?" Harry asks between breaths.

"Of course he has," Mrs. Figg answers impatiently. "Did you expect him to let you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent... right... get inside and stay there," she says, as we reach number four. "I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough."

"What are you going to do?" I ask quickly.

"I'm going straight home," she replies, staring around the dark street and shuddering. "I'll need to stay in the house and wait for more instructions. Just stay in the house. Goodnight."

"Hang on, don't go yet! I want to know-" Harry begins, but Mrs. Figg has already set off on a trot, carpet slippers flopping, string bag clanking.

"Wait!" I call after her, but it's no good; within seconds, she's swallowed by darkness.

Harry and I exchange dark looks. We finally find someone with some answers, and they disappear before we can get any.

"Here, I'll help you up until the garden path," I say, sighing, adjusting Dudley on my shoulder, and together, we make out slow way up number four's garden path. I can see that the hall light is on. Once we make it onto the doorstep, I carefully take Dudley's arm off my shoulder, slowly helping Harry transition into carrying Dudley's full weight.

"Good luck," I whisper, giving him a meaningful look. All he can do is nod and smile grimly.

I hurry over next door to number five, walk around the house over to Candy's window. I look around desperately for some pebbles to throw. Finally, I find a handful of them, and, one at a time, I throw them at Candy's window.

 _Come on, Candy,_ I think desperately.  _You ought to have come back by now, come on_!

Finally, her window opens, and her head pokes out of it. I give her a meaningful look, and she disappears. Next moment, the rope is thrown out of the window.

I'm so sore from carrying Dudley and still rather shaken from what happened with the Dementors that I find it very hard to climb, almost falling several times. But finally, I make it to the top, collapsing into her room.

She sticks out her hand to help me, and I take it, pulling myself to my feet.

"You all right?" she asks. "You look awfully pale."

"Yeah," I say vaguely. "Yeah, I'm all right."

She stares at me for a long time, studying me, making me extremely uncomfortable.

"While I was out," she says slowly, "there was a moment when everything went really really dark, and really really cold, and it was like all the sound had been turned off. And I - I felt like I would never be happy again. Did that have to do with - you lot?"

I stare at her for a while, surprised. She's much smarter than I've ever given her credit for.

"Yes," I reply. "Yes, it did."

"Right," she says, whitening. "I have the wrong idea about your world, don't I? I always think it's a world full of rainbows and castles and funny-sounding spells and unicorns and candy floss clouds, but it's not, is it? It's scary."

"Yeah, I suppose it's pretty scary," I say. "But it's not - not - I don't know."

I was going to say it's not that bad, but considering the fact that Lord Voldemort's back, and there were Dementors in Little Whinging. I'd say it  _is_ that bad.

"I'll - I'll see you around," I say awkwardly, waving before hurrying into my room.

I collapse onto my bed, trying to process what happened, trying to calm down, trying to stifle my curiosity, because I know I won't be getting answers any time soon. But soon I'm up and pacing, because I can't lie still for longer than five minutes.

 

***

 

I spend almost all my time in my bedroom, looking through  _Daily Prophet_ articles, swearing and singing loudly whenever nobody's home to relieve stress, and reading random books in a desperate attempt to get my mind off things. I still go out on walks, but since Harry's on an actual lockdown, and I therefore can't see him (except for when we have conversations through our windows), I don't do it nearly as often.

Harry, as it turns out, is expelled from Hogwarts until further notice, as he'd already received a warning about under-age magic. His trial is August twelfth. The injustice of it all makes me want to explode.

I finally get to opening all the letters on my desk, only to find that I'm right; they're all just as useless as I thought they would be, full of the same useless things as they've been all summer. Just as I'm finishing up with the last one, Hermione's, I hear a loud thumping noise.

I jump out of bed immediately, alert and aware of my surroundings. The Martins are out. Some sort of emergency family meeting. I think Candy's great-grandmother is dying, or something like that, I don't know. They never really explained.

So, who is it? Burglars? I dismiss that thought the second I hear a clattering noise. Burglars would not be so noisy.

Dementors? My heart stops, but I dismiss that thought just as quickly. They're too graceful to go running into things, and I would've felt them before I saw them, and it would've been dark by now.

I grab my wand, gripping it very tightly in my hand, my heart pounding wildly. Only one way to find out, I guess. Slowly and silently, I make my way across my room, opening the door as quietly as possible, only opening it enough to slip through, before shutting it carefully behind me.

I tiptoe down the stairs, carefully skipping over the one I know tend to creak. I can hear voices now, quiet ones. One of them sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't tell where I've heard it before. If only they'd speak up a bit...

At the foot of the stairs, I take a deep breath, trying to keep quiet, gathering my courage to keep going, to see what's happening. I turn the corner and let out a scream. There, right in front of me, stand two people. A woman with blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a heart-shaped face. The other is-

"REMUS? REMUS!" I exclaim, unable to believe it. "What - what are you - who - what the  _hell_ -?"

"Hazel, please keep it down," Remus says urgently, but he looks pleased to see me.

"What's happening? What the hell are you doing here?" I demand. I turn to the woman. "And who the hell are you? And why have you broken into my house?"

"Her name is Nymphadora-" Remus begins.

" _Don't_ call me that," the woman says testily.

"You didn't let me finish," he says patiently. "Her name is Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be referred to by her surname, Tonks."

"Okay, but why are you  _here_?" I ask impatiently.

"We're here to rescue you from this awful place, of course," Tonks replies. "What else?"


	5. Grimmauld Place

**Ours**

**Chapter Five: Grimmauld Place**

 

"What?" I splutter, shocked. "What d'you mean, you're rescuing me?"

"We mean we're taking you away from here," Remus explains. "Patricia Martin isn't actually dying, we just wrote them a letter saying so, so that we could get them away from the house long enough to take you away from here."

"I came up with that bit," Tonks adds proudly.

"So - you're - you - I'm leaving?" I ask weakly, a flicker of hope passing through me.

Remus nods, smiling at me. "Yes, you are."

And suddenly I'm so happy that I regret snapping at Remus instead of hugging him, and that's exactly what I do now. Hug him. I'd even hug Tonks, except I hardly know her.

"Hey, I'll take a hug, too," she says, grinning. "I'm feeling somewhat left out, here."

So, I give her something of an awkward hug, but when I pull away. I realize something.

"What about Harry?" I ask, my brow furrowing. "I can't just leave him."

"You have to," Remus shakes his head. "We have much more elaborate plans to get him to where we're going, and it'll be extremely problematic to just take him now on a whim."

"Where  _are_ we going?" I ask.

"We can't stay here," Tonks says furtively. "You'll see when we get there."

"That sounds like an awfully suspicious thing to say," I comment, raising an eyebrow. "How do I know whether it's really you, or if you're Death Eater imposters ready to take me hostage, or something?"

"Your name is Hazel Jasmine Knight, born the thirteenth of May, nineteen eighter, the child of Brandon and Jasmine Knight, maiden name Richards. You're going into your fifth year at Hogwarts, and I was your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in your third year - and you're still bitter that I left - where I then told you that I'm your godfather. You take three sugars in your tea - refuse to take any more or less - hate people who put the milk in before the tea, have an owl called Midnight, curse too much, and are thinking of becoming an Auror once you leave school," Remus reels off. "I could go on if really necessary, but we need to hurry, so I hope it won't be."

"Okay," I say slowly. "Okay. So, you really are you."

"Glad that we have that established," Tonks nods. "Now, let's go."

"I'm not leaving without Harry," I insist.

"Hazel, look," says Tonks, with a stab of impatience. "It's like Remus said, we have plans to get him, too, and soon. Very carefully made plans. And we can't get you both at the same time, the plans we made are complicated enough. So, either you go now, or you don't go at all. Your choice."

I stare at them hard for a long time. Then I give up, mu shoulders slumping.

"My stuff's upstairs," I say in a resigned voice.

 

***

 

When we enter my room, I'm suddenly conscious of how messy my room is. I shrug, gesturing around dully.

"Sorry for the mess," I say. "It's not like I was expecting anyone."

They don't seem to mind too much, they even crack a smile at my last comment.

As I go to get my trunk, Tonks examines herself in the mirror.

"You know, I don't think this is working," she says, gesturing at her appearance. "Do you think it's the eyes?"

Remus just shrugs.

"You really are no help," she shakes her head. "What do _you_ think, Hazel?"

I look up at her from the scraps of parchment I'd been clearing away, startled to have been asked for my opinion.

"I - uh - I don't know, you look fine to me," I say, but I'm mostly confused as to why she's asking this question  _now_.

"But something about this is  _wrong_ ," she insists, shaking her head. "I don't like it. I dunno, I'm going to try the eyes."

She squeezes them shut, screwing up her face as though concentrating hard. When she opens her eyes again, they're warm and dark brown. My eyes widen at that.

"How'd you do that?" I ask, amazed.

"I'm a Metamorphmagus," she replies, shrugging. Noticing my confused look, she adds, "It means I can change my appearance at any time."

"That's wicked!" I say, awed. "How d'you become one?"

She laughs. "You don't. You're either born one, or you're not one at all. You can change your appearance with spells and potions, but we've got it a lot easier. It helped with passing my test to become an Auror, because it made disguising myself really easy."

"You're an Auror?" I ask, my interest in her increasing.

She nods, then turns to look at herself in the mirror again. "Something's still wrong."

"Might be the blonde hair," Remus suggests. "I preferred it purple."

"So did I, but I needed  _change_ ," she shakes her head. "Maybe I just need to get used to it? I've only had it for a day," she points out, but when we don't answer, she says, "No, never mind, I'm changing it back."

And again, she closes her eyes and screws up her face, and her blonde hair becomes a little shorter and turns purple.

"That is  _amazing_ ," I whisper, throwing away the last scrap of parchment.

I begin to start packing, when Tonks cuts in.

"No, no, don't be ridiculous, it'll be much quicker if Remus does it!"

"Why would it be quicker if-?" I begin.

But my question is answered before I even finish asking it. With a flick of his wand, all my stuff is packed neatly into my trunk.

"Oh."

"You might want to put on a jumper, though. It's kind of cold outside, and you're not exactly dressed heavily," Remus points out.

I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

"Remus, it's  _summer_ ," I insist.

He just shrugs; looking at me sternly.

"All right, fine," I sigh.

"Your boyfriend'll be pleased to see you, in any case," Tonks says with a knowing grin, as I dig carefully through my trunk for a jumper to wear. "He would hardly shut up about you, practically begged to come along with us to pick you up. He nearly threw a fit when we kept saying no. It's quite cute, really."

I look up at her, surprised.

"My boyfriend?" I repeat blankly.

"You don't remember your own boyfriend? Clearly you two have got some issues you need to work out," she grins.

"Last time  _I_ checked, I don't have a boyfriend, but why don't you try to refresh my memory, and I'll check again," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Tall. Ginger. Loads of freckles."

"I know a lot of tall ginger people with loads of freckles," I shake my head at her, smiling. "You'll have to be more specific."

She laughs. "True. All right, then, he's a twin."

I decide to play dumb.

"George?" I suggest.

"Try again,"

"Fred?" I say, smiling shyly, and finally taking out - ironically enough - one of Fred's jumpers. He's let me wear it so much, that one day I just forgot to give it to him, it mysteriously landed in my trunk, and I have it to this day. I totally sound like I'm lying, but that really is what happened. I desperately hope she doesn't realize it's Fred's jumper, but judging by the look on her face, she does.

"Bingo," she grins.

"Right, well, if you're all packed, can we go now?" Remus says irritably from the doorway. "We don't have all night, as you very well know, Tonks."

"You're very protective, aren't you, Remus?" Tonks says casually, as I shut my trunk closed and grab Midnight's cage.

"I don't know what you mean," Remus grumbles. "I was only  _saying._ "

Tonks just laughs. I join in a little, but mostly I feel a rush of affection towards Remus.

"All right, let's go," Tonks says cheerfully after I leave the most annoying note possible on my bedroom door for the Martins, rubbing her hands together before briskly leading the way out of my room, down the stairs, and out the house.

Remus and I follow, just behind her.

He still looks very grumpy, so I add, in a voice as casual as I can manage, "I'm very happy to see you, you know."

This is a very very true fact. It's also a very very true fact that manages to cheer Remus up somewhat, and I allow myself to feel triumphant.

"I'm glad to see you, too," he says.

"So, how are we getting to - well, wherever we're going, then?" I ask.

"We're taking the Knight bus," Remus replies, and I perk up.

"Really?" I ask excitedly, and when he nods I grin widely. "I've always wanted to go on it. I really should, too, since it's named after me and everything."

"It actually is," he says, smiling. "One of your more distant relatives invented it and named it after himself."

"Fu - wow," I correct myself quickly, remembering how he talked about how I curse too much. "Really? That's incredible!"

At Magnolia crescent, we stop, and Tonks holds out her hand confidently.

"Um, what is she doing?" I ask Remus in a whisper.

"You'll see," he replies.

I do see.

With a loud bang, a violently purple triple-decker bus materializes in front of us. Gold lettering on the wind shield reads  _The Knight Bus_. A pimply faced man who seems to be in his early twenties hops out the door, leaning against the bus. That must be Stan Shunpike, exactly like Harry described him, except a little older looking. _  
_

"Good evening, sir and misses, welcome to The Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded-"

"Yes, we get it," Tonks nods, looking impatient.

She pays for the three of us, tells Stan where we're going, and leads us near the back of the first floor. There are beds instead of chairs, and on several of them there are people sleeping, or at least, trying to sleep. Most of them look sick.

When we start moving, I understand. The Knight Bus moves impossibly fast and without any control, but anything it gets in the way of jumps out, before jumping back as though nothing had happened. I look out the window incredulously, but then stop, because the sight makes me nauseous. It squeezes through the most impossibly small spaces, stretching everyone in the bus to be tall and thin.

"Is this safe?" I demand of Remus.

"Perfectly safe, yes," he chuckles. "Just unwise to go on after you've eaten."

Despite this, I'm still glad when Stan finally points to us and says, "You lot are next, then."

After ten minutes of gripping onto the headboard of a bed in an attempt not to fall, the bus bangs to a stop. I fall forward. Embarrassed, I quickly pick myself up again, grab my stuff, and follow Remus and Tonks clumsily off the bus.

I hit the pavement, stumble forward a few steps.

"I've changed my mind. I never want to go on that bus again."

"I know," Tonks says sympathetically, nodding. "I hate going on there."

I hardly have time to take in my surroundings before we're moving again. We keep on walking and walking, my curiosity expanding the further we go. Where are we going? Why is it so important that I can't know? That we have to get off so far away so those on the Knight Bus can't know?

Once we stop, we seem to be in a Muggle neighbourhood, the grimy fronts not very welcoming; some of them have broken windows, glimmering in the street lamps; paint is peeling from many of the front doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.

"Where  _are_ we?" I ask, mystified.

"In a minute," Remus says quietly, digging through his pockets. "There we go."

He'd pulled out what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicks it. The nearest street lamp goes out with a pop. He repeats this process over and over again until all the street lamps are out and the only light is coming from the moon and the curtains of the houses.

"That's to stop any Muggles from looking out the windows," Remus explains, pocketing it again. "We've borrowed it from Dumbledore in order to pick you and Harry up. Now, come on, quickly."

He leads the way in front of two houses. Number eleven and number thirteen. Number twelve is missing.

"Here, take this and read it carefully," Remus says, taking a piece of parchment out of his pocket and handing it to me. "Be as quick as you can, but make sure you memorize it."

Tonks lights her wand and holds it to the parchment so I can read it better. I squint a little, not used to the brightness of the light coming from Tonks' wand. The handwriting looks vaguely familiar. The parchment reads:

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London_

I look up at the two houses, number eleven and number thirteen. There is no number twelve.

I look back at the parchment. What's the Order of the Phoenix?

But I decide to trust Remus, and I read over the single sentence again and again until I have it memorized.

"What's the-?" I ask, once I have it memorized.

"Not here," Tonks says, shaking her head. "Wait until we're inside. We'll tell you what you need to know there."

I hand the parchment back to him. He sets the parchment on fire with his wand, I watch as it curls into flames and floats to the ground. Then I look back up at the two houses.

"But where's number twelve?"

"Think about what you've just read," Remus says quietly. "Think about what you just read, exactly."

I think about the message, and just as I get to the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, a battered door appears between the two houses, followed by dirty walls and grimy windows. My eyes widen, unable to believe it, watching as number twelve appears out of nowhere, pushing the houses on either side out of its way. I look at the windows in number elven and thirteen. The stereo thuds on in number eleven, and the sound of the television continues in number thirteen. Apparently, the Muggles that live there hadn't noticed a thing.

"Come on, let's get inside," Tonks says. "And quickly."

We follow her up the worn stone steps, me looking at the house that had not been there moments before in wonder.

 _This house is fantastic,_ I think, as we step through the threshold, and Remus turns back with the cigarette lighter in hand to turn the street lamps back on, not caring about how dirty and unwelcoming it looks.  _This house is fantastic, this house is amazing, this house is - full of the sound of a woman shrieking at the top of her lungs._


	6. Next Question

**Ours**

**Chapter Six: Next Question**

 

"MUDBLOODS, BLOOD-TRAITORS, FILTHY SCUM! BY-PRODUCTS OF DIRT AND VILENESS! HALF-BREEDS, MUTANTS, FREAKS, BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE!" the woman rants on.

Moth-eaten curtains had been flown open, but it's not a door, like I had originally thought. For a split second, I think it's a window, a window in which an old woman in a black cap is screaming though tortured - until I realize it's a life-size portrait. But it's the most realistic, and the most unpleasant portrait I've ever laid eyes on.

"Tonks!" Remus says, barely heard over the woman.

"I'm sorry! It's that umbrella stand, you know I always-" Tonks wails, who's now lying flat on the floor, but the rest of her words are drowned out by the woman.

As the woman shrieks on, Tonks starts apologizing over and over again, dragging a heavy troll's leg off the floor. Meanwhile, as Remus attempts to close the curtains, I examine the woman. She's drooling, her eyes rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screams. The sound of her screams brings the other portraits to life, causing them to start yelling too, until the sound is so loud I cover my ears to try to drown it out. A man with long dark hair comes striding out of one of the rooms, looking extremely irritated.

"SHUT UP, YOU MISERABLE OLD HAG, SHUT UP!" he roars, and with the help of Remus, they close the curtains with a bang.

Soon after the woman's screams fall silent, the rest of the portraits do, too. Finally, a heavy silence settles in the house. The man turns to look at me, a small smile on his face.

"Hello, Hazel," Sirius Black nods. "So, I see you've met my mother."

"Your - your mother?" I choke out, looking at the curtains, wide-eyes.

"Yes," he says grimly, "unfortunately."

"I - I don't really see the resemblance," I murmur.

He laughs. "Good. I'd be offended if you did."

Mrs. Weasley appears from the door, looking worried. I notice she looks thinner and paler than she had last time I saw her.

"What's happen - oh, Hazel! You're here!" she hurries forward, engulfing me in a hug. When she pulls away she examines me, making me feel uncomfortable in spite of the fact that I'm happy to see her.

"A little peaky," she says disapprovingly. "Dinner'll have to wait a bit, though."

I look over her shoulder at the open door. There's a flight of stairs.

"Sorry, dear," she shakes her head, blocking my view. "We'll tell you everything you need to know during dinner. Thought, I expect Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George'll take care of that."

"Where are they?" I ask eagerly.

"I'll show you," she says. "Just make sure you're quiet, because - well, you know, I expect. Leave your stuff here, Ginny and Hermione'll show you where you're satubg later."

I follow her up a flight of stairs. With every passing step a sense of bewilderment grows, staring at a plaque of mounted house-elf heads on the wall. What are we doing in a house that looks like it belongs to the darkest of wizards?

"Mrs. Weasley, why-?" I begin as we reach the landing of a second staircase, but she shakes her head again.

"Oh, they'll explain it to you, I've really got to go," she says. "They're the first door on your right-" she gestures vaguely -"right there. I'll call you when the meeting's over."

I watch as she hurries down the stairs until she's out of sight, before walking over to the indicated knob, grabbing onto it. I hesitate before opening the door, taking a deep breath to gather my courage. I'm not completely sure why I'm so nervous."

The second I open the door, my vision is obscured by a large quantity of bushy brown hair, and I'm attacked in a hug that nearly knocks me backward.

Hermione.

"HAZEL! Oh, my God - we've been so worried! We heard about the Dementors, are you all right? You look - well, are you all right?"

"Hermione, let her breathe," a voice calls. I look over Hermione's shoulder and see Ron standing there, smiling apologetically at me.

When I pull away from Hermione, I am not as happy as I thought I'd be. When I look round at Ron, I'm not as happy as I thought I'd be. I'm angry.

"Not very worried, obviously, or you would've bothered to write something  _useful_ in your letters," I say dryly.

Her eyes widen.

"Hazel - no - you don't understand - oh, I knew you'd be upset! Of course you would be, I'd be  _furious_ , if I were you! But we couldn't - we  _couldn't_ -" _  
_

"Yes, and why not?" I demand. I notice they have scratches along their arms and on their face and am tempted to ask why, but decide not to in my anger.

"Because," Ron says nervously. "Because - well, Dumbledore made us swear not to tell you or Harry anything."

There's a long silence at that. I keep opening and closing my mouth, not knowing what to say in my shock.

"D-Dumbledore?" I stutter. "Why would he want you to keep stuff from us?"

"We don't know," Ron replies. "We just figured - well, we'd have to trust him, won't we? It's Dumbledore, he knows what he's doing."

"So, it didn't even  _occur_ to either of you to ask why?" I ask, my anger returning more fiercely than before.

"We tried to!" Hermione says earnestly. "Really, we did! But he wouldn't tell us, and, well, what would you do? Everyone's confused and scared and Dumbledore's the one who understands everything the most. You have to trust him, even - even if you don't necessarily want to. Even if he doesn't tell you everything - and he didn't! He didn't tell us anything, we really don't know anything except the basics. But-" she adds quickly, seeing that I'm still angry, "-we think it might be so that no owls get intercepted - at least, no owls carrying important messages. Part of the reason, anyway."

"Right," I say, looking away from them. "Right, well, since I'm here now, do you want to explain? What's the Order of the Phoenix?"

"It's a secret society dedicated to stopping You-Know-Who and any of his movements," Hermione explains immediately. "Dumbledore restarted it after term ended - it's what he sent Sirius to do."

"And who's in it?"

"Loads of people," Ron answers. "We don't know everyone, I don't think, but we've seen a lot. Um, Lupin and Tonks - who went to pick you up, obviously - and Sirius, and Mum and Dad, Bill and Charlie, and, er, a load of teachers - McGonagall and Snape and-"

That sparks some interest.

"Snape? Is he here?"

"I think he's at the meeting tonight, but I dunno," Ron shrugs.

"He is," Hermione pipes up.

"Yes, well, he doesn't really stay for long," Ron continues. "Good thing, too, I don't think I'd be able to eat with that slimy git so close by. I'd lose my appetite."

"Okay," I say. Under normal circumstances, I would've laughed and agreed with Ron's comment. But I'm still angry, trying with difficulty to hold it in. "And what do they do?"

"We - well, we don't know, really," Hermione says hesitantly. "I mean, Charlie is in charge of getting international ties and getting more foreign wizards to join the Order, for example, but we don't know specifically what they do. We really don't know much more than you do, Hazel, really. Even if we were allowed to tell you, there wouldn't be much to tell. We're not allowed to go to the meetings, we really can't do anything at all-"

That sets me off completely.

"WHO  _CARES_ IF YOU CAN'T GO TO THE STUPID MEETINGS?" I blurt out. "YOU'RE STILL  _HERE,_ AREN'T YOU? You're together! You have some kind of an idea what's going on, even if it's vague! You weren't left with your abusive aunt and uncle without a single clue of what's going on, left to listen in on the Muggle news and read the  _Daily Prophet_ to find something -  _anything_! No, you guys were just living it up here, having a real laugh about how Harry and I were left in the dark! And-" _  
_

"No, Hazel, that's not it, that's really not it!" Hermione says worriedly. "We didn't - we wanted to - we've told you, Dumbledore-"

"Yes, yes, I get it, Dumbledore wouldn't let you!" I snap. "Just don't - don't act like  _you're_ all so very unlucky because you didn't get to go to the meetings. And for another thing-"

There's two loud cracking noises from right behind me, and I let out a tiny scream, jumping. I whip around to face the source of the noise, and find Fred and George standing in front of me. This only makes me angrier.

"Hey, Hazel, you're here!" Fred says, grinning.

"We're rather upset that we had to find out by listening to you screaming, but I suppose you weren't in the mood," George adds.

"Anyway," Fred says, as they walk around me and sit on one of the beds, "don't let us interrupt. Let it out."

"I'm  _not_ in the mood, you two," I say.

"I'm hurt," Fred says, holding a hand to his chest. "That's the first thing you say to us after a whole summer apart with nothing more to connect us than words written hastily on parchment?"

I stand taller, crossing my arms and glaring at him, pretending that I'm wearing his jumper.

"You," I say, "are ridiculously annoying."

"You," he says mockingly, sitting straighter, "are wearing my jumper."

"You are totally - you're  _so_ -you are so  _irritating_!" I say.

"Be that as it may," he says, "you're still wearing  _my_ jumper."

"Look, do you want it back, if you're so obsessed with it?"

"You can keep it," he shrugs. "You wear it more than I do, anyway."

"Well, now that that's all settled," George says. "Let's move on to more important matters. What's gotten you in such a bad mood?"

"What's gotten me in such a bad mood? Hmm, probably the fact that you lot left me in the dark for over a month and now you're acting like nothing's happened - in fact, you're right, nothing has happened, and that's the entire problem!"

"We've told you-" Ron begins.

"Yes, I  _know_ ," I say impatiently. "But you'd be annoyed, too, wouldn't you? And was it part of Dumbledore's deal to sound so apathetic? To sound like you didn't care at all?"

"Well, we didn't know what to say-" George begins uncomfortably.

"Right, right, of course," I say sarcastically. "My bad, sorry."

"Look, I don't see the point in holding a grudge," Fred says. "It's not like we didn't want to..."

"Of course you don't," I snap. "When  _I'm_ angry you don't see the point, but when I do  _one little thing_ -"

"That's not even the point!" he exclaims.

"Yes, it is!"

"Okay, well, how about we tell you what you want to know now, then - or at least, what we do know," Fred says. "How's that?"

I'm silent for a moment, still glowering. But I do still want to know more, regardless of my anger, so I look away and grudgingly mumble. "Okay. Fine."

"Good," he says approvingly, nodding. "So, what's your first question?"

I give them a sideways glance, before saying, not meeting anyone's eyes, "When's Harry coming?"

I hear dark muttering from under someone's breath, and when I turn around, I see it was Fred's lips moving. Annoyance rushes through me, but before I can call him out on it, he replies, "Next week. So we've been told."

"And what is this place?" I demand, gesturing at the gloomy, grey room.

"It's Sirius' mother's house," Hermione says. "It's technically his, now that everyone in his family is gone."

"Okay,"  I nod. "What do people do in this Order?"

"Loads of different stuff," George replies. "We don't know exactly what, they won't tell us. Which is really stupid, if you ask me, I mean, I get Ron and Hermione, but Fred and I are of age. We should be able to join."

"Right," I turn to Ron and Hermione. "Is Bill here? Isn't he still in Egypt?"

"He applies for a desk job so that he could come home and work for the Order," Fred says. "He says he misses the tombs, but;" a smirk forms on his face, "there are compensations."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Remember old Fleur Delacour? She got a job at Gringotts to eeemprove 'er Eeenglish," George says, smirking.

"And Bill's been giving her - ah - private lessons," Fred sniggers.

"Charlie's in the Order, too," George goes on. "But he's off in Romania. Dumbledore wants as many foreign contacts brought in as possible, so Charlie tries to make some on his days off."

"Why couldn't Percy do that?" I ask. "Wouldn't he be better off doing it, since he works in the Department of International Magical Co-operation?"

At my words, the present Weasleys and Hermione exchange dark looks, precisely at the same moment as Ginny walks in the room.

"Hazel, you're here!" she says cheerfully, then turns to the others. She frowns, "What happened?"

"She brought up Percy," George replies darkly, and Ginny lets out a noise like an angry cat. I look round at her, surprised.

"What? What's wrong?" I say. "I get that you lot don't necessarily  _like_ Percy, but-"

"It's not that," Ron says tensely. "Look, whatever you do, don't bring him up in front of Mum and Dad?"

"Why not?" I frown.

"Because every time he's brought up, Mum bursts into tears, and Dad breaks whatever he's holding," Fred replies.

"What happened?" I ask, shocked.

George opens his mouth to speak, but Mrs. Weasley's slightly muffled voice cuts him off.

"Come on, it's time for dinner!" she calls.

"We'll explain later," Hermione says, running a hand through her hair, as Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George all stand up.

"Don't ask anyone at dinner," Fred whispers to me, as he draws lever to me, bringing his face closer to mine. I try not to let that distract me. "I'm serious, Hazel, don't. We'll explain later, just don't do it."

"I won't," I say, slightly irritated that he thinks I'm that tactless. "I'm - I'm not stupid. I won't."

"I'm not saying you're stupid," he says, moving away from me, much to my discontent. "Just too curious."


	7. Conversations by the Firelight

**Ours**

**Chapter Seven: Conversations by the Firelight**

 

During dinner, it's basically what Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George told me already, so I find it hard to keep interested. Whenever I try to get more information, they wave it away, insisting that I do not need to know any more than the basics, that I'm too young, which annoys me to no end, but they're just as stubborn as I am, so I give up.

After dinner, I took my stuff upstairs and followed Hermione and Ginny up to our room. It was much like the other rooms in this house; high-ceilinged, particularly gloomy. When we go to sleep, Hermione closes the door and locks it.

"Is locking it really necessary?" I ask.

"Yes," Ginny says. "You don't want Kreacher coming in and watching you while you sleep, murmuring about blood-traitors and Mudbloods."

"Who's Kreacher?"

"The creepiest, foulest, most disgusting house-elf I've ever laid eyes on," Ginny replies.

"Come on, Ginny, he's not _that_ bad," Hermione insists.

"Hermione, just because you're fighting for house-elf equality doesn't mean you have to let it  _blind_ you," Ginny rolls her eyes. "You can realize some house-elves are just  _evil_ without being cruel, just like with humans."

She just shakes her head. "He's misunderstood. If you just treat him better, he'll treat you better."

"Yeah, that worked real well for you. Has he stopped calling you a Mudblood yet, or...?"

"Has he what?" I demand.

"It's not his fault! He's been brainwashed!"

"Hermione! You can't excuse stuff like that by saying stuff that might not even be true!" I exclaim.

"You don't understand," she shakes her head stubbornly.

Ginny and I exchange looks. We shake our heads, knowing that there's no arguing with Hermione when she gets like this.

"Right, my apologies," I say, not necessarily hiding my sarcasm.

She doesn't seem to notice.

 

***

 

I wake up abruptly from another nightmare of my parent dying, breathing quickly and quietly, sweating profusely, the sweat on my face mingled with tears. I sit up, wiping the tears and sweat from my face.

After I've steadied my breathing enough, I get out of bed carefully, walk out the door, planning to go into the kitchen, since it'll presumably be empty. I walk through the mostly dark, empty hallways, making sure to keep extra quiet with doors that have light seeping through the crack under the door, or where muffles voices are on the other side.

It takes me a while to find the kitchen, is fine by me, because it leaves me more time to calm down.

When I open the door to the kitchen, however, I find that I will not be alone, judging by the light from the fire. I walk down the steps cautiously, trying not to make any noise, attempting to make out who it is.

When I make it out as either Fred or George, I sigh in relief. Just loud enough for them to hear me. They turn around, smile at me, and I identify him as Fred. I walk down the rest of the steps, sit down next to him, smile weakly.

"Hi," I say.

"Hey," he puts an arm around my waist. I lean into his body, sighing slightly. "You okay?"

"Had another nightmare," is all I say. "You know,  _the_ nightmare."

"Ah," he nods, and does not say anything else.

Instead, he pulls me closer to him, puts his other arm around me, and rests his head on top of mine. I wrap my arms around him, burying my head into his chest, sighing. We stay like that for ages, nobody talking, because we both know that there's nothing worth saying.

Eventually, I break the silence.

"What're you doing down here, then?"

"I dunno, just thinking," he replies.

"About?" I ask.

"I dunno, a lot of things," he says vaguely.

"Such as?"

"You're really annoying," he says, but there's a smile in his voice. "I dunno... the joke shop, and... certain people."

"You're vague as fuck, Fred," I comment. "What about the joke shop? What people in particular?"

"The layout and where we should start and - I don't know - everything, I guess," he says. "And us... well... you, quite honestly."

"Me?" I ask, surprised.

"Yeah," he says, with a trace of nervousness.

"What exactly about me?"

"I dunno..." his voice trails off, and there's silence for so long I almost think he's not going to answer. "Your hair and your eyes and your smile and your laugh and your voice and your facial expressions and, I don't know, I've just really missed you."

I grin widely, burying my head into his chest.

When I pull away, I look up at him, and say, "I've missed you, too, Fred. _I suppose._ "

He lets out a laugh. "I give you a whole speech, and this is what I get?"

"Tough luck," is all I say.

"You're awful, Knight," he grins.

"And you love me anyway,"

"You wish,"

"You wish I wish," I counter, smiling.

"You wish I wish you wish," he replies.

"You wish I wish you wish you - wait, no - I wish," I stumble.

"Nice try, Knight," he laughs.

"Hey, it's late and I hardly got any sleep!"

"Well, go get some now," Fred says. "I'm going back to bed, anyway."

I'm extremely reluctant for this to end, but don't really want to say so, so I pull away from Fred's arms, suddenly feeling very exposed and empty without them around me.

"I'll go back in a minute," I say. "You go ahead."

"You sure?" he asks. "I can stick around."

"No, it's fine, go ahead," I shake my head.

"All right. Night, Knight," I wave him goodbye, and watch as he heads upstairs.

I sigh once he's out of sight, running a hand through my hair. But it's not long until I hear footsteps coming down my way.

"Fred?" I call out hopefully.

It's not Fred.

"Sorry to disappoint," Remus says, with a small smile, sitting down next to me.

"Remus!" I say happily. "No, you're not disappointing me. It's just that I was talking to Fred a while ago."

"I thought I heard voices..." he says under his breath, his smile turning into a faint frown.

"You know, it's been over a year," I say. "You need to open up to the idea of me and Fred being - well, whatever we are. Face it, Remus - I'm  _maturing_."

"I know," he admits, sighing. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it! If he's making you happy, though, I'm happy. It's all I can ask of him, really."

I smile in satisfaction. "You're not half bad, Remus."

"I can receive no higher praise than that," he says, and I laugh.

"So, what're you doing up this late?" I ask. "I know you heard voices, but we definitely weren't that loud."

"I couldn't sleep," he shrugs. "Just one of those nights."

"Did you have a nightmare, or something?" I ask, then feel very stupid; something about being a teenager asking an adult if they've had a nightmare seems strange.

He glances over at me, hesitating.

"No," he finally says, and I frown.

"I don't believe that," I shake my head. "If you don't want to tell me, fine, just don't lie - especially so terribly."

He looks away from me for so long I think he didn't hear me. Then, he finally says, "I was just reliving the day I was bitten - the day I became a werewolf."

I don't press the subject. He's already told me the story of how he became a werewolf. How he was bitten by Fenrir Greyback at a very young age, how his parents had tried everything to stop it but there just wasn't a cure back then, the incredible pain he had to endure for so many years, the reason why my father and his fellow Marauders decided to become Animagi and keep him company. I knew the full story, I knew Remus didn't want to share it, and I certainly knew I didn't want to hear it again.

"Anyway, why were  _you_ up?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"I wasn't secretly shagging Fred, if that's what you think," I blurt out, then realize that's probably not an appropriate thing to say to your godfather. "Sorry," I mumble, embarrassed.

A ghost of a smile is on his mostly disapproving face.

"Let's pretend it didn't happen," is all he says.

"Okay," I nod. "Uh, same reason as you. Had a nightmare,"

"About what? If you don't mind me asking," he adds, but his face is full of concern.

I explain my nightmares of Voldemort killing my parents, studying the table because I can't bear to look at him, feeling selfish for feeling so upset, when he's the one who knew them better. I hardly remember them at all.

When I finish, he pulls me to him in a hug, and a few tears escape from my eyes before I can stop them.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that he's fighting back tears. Remus, the person so consistently  _together_ in my life; the person who, though was undoubtedly very sad, always had it together, always had a smile on his face; the person who usually never failed to at least be somewhat optimistic - he was fighting off tears.

Something about this fact makes things incredibly real, and I start crying harder, which makes me feel awful because he knew them better and he's not crying - thought just barely - and I am, and that only upsets me more, which makes me cry more. And Remus, ever so patient and kind and gentle, just holds me as I cry, and I hate myself and how I'm so selfish, and love him and how he's so so selfless.

When I've calmed down, he lets go of me, wipes the tears from my face.

"It's okay," he says, his voice low. "You're okay. I know what it's like, believe, I know - and I know you. You're all right - or, you will be. Trust me."

And I did trust him. I trust him with my life, so I nod and smile, even though I feel the exact opposite of okay, for a mess of reasons.

"You think you can try for some sleep again?" he asks.

I'm not sure if I'll be able to sleep again tonight, but I know that if I say no, he'll stay with me through the night, and it doesn't seem fair to keep him like that and he looks tired and I know that he probably now wants to be alone and think of my parents, so I nod and smile and allow him to walk me back to my room and watch as he walks away - probably to his own room - because I owe him that much - at the very least.


	8. Sponges

**Ours**

**Chapter Eight: Sponges**

 

When I wake up again, this time awoken by Hermione as opposed to a nightmare, I feel mostly refreshed, but slightly miserable. Wondering how it's possible to feel such contradicting emotions at once, I get up and get dressed.

At breakfast, Fred and Remus seem to react to me different, because of last night's events. Fred is generally more affectionate with me than he was before, smiling at me, 'accidentally' touching me, pushing a bit of hair out of my face ("I was doing you a favour!" he insists innocently, when I turn to him, eyebrows raised.) I glance over at Remus, and see that he's looked up from the Daily Prophet long enough to give me a look that shows me he's trying very hard not to look disapproving. I smile at that.

Remus, on the other hand, seems to be acting as if nothing had happened at all - at least, that's what I thought at first. Until I pay attention a bit more, and I notice that whenever I catch his eyes, his expression is softer and his smiles are kinder, and whenever he addresses me his voice is gentler. This makes me feel a lot better, and a lot worse.

After breakfast, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, and I are split into two groups to go clean; Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in one group, Fred, George and I in the next. Something about Mrs. Weasley's expression tells me that she saw how Fred and I were during breakfast.

Fred, George, and I march into the room Mrs. Weasley assigned to us, and I look around at the gloomy, particularly grimy room, eyebrows raised. It's not much different from any of the other rooms I've been in.

"There's not really much variety in this place, huh?" I say.

"Not really, no," George shakes his head, shrugging.

"It's a bit depressing," I continue. "Don't know how Sirius survived here as long as he has, living here and all."

"He didn't last  _too_ long," Fred says. "He ran away when he was sixteen."

I look round at him in shock. "Did he actually?"

Fred nods.

"Where did he  _go_?" I ask, baffled.

"Went over to Harry's dad's," George replies. "Just long enough for him to become of age and get his own place."

"Wow," I mumble. "That's... bold."

They just shrug, getting to work. I follow suit, and we work together quite well, getting a lot of work done quickly.

"Hey," I say suddenly. "Why don't you lot just use magic to clean this?"

"Don't you think we would if we could?" Fred says, eyebrows raised. "We're not very good with - erm - household spells."

"Well, that's rubbish then," I frown at them, brows furrowed. "What's the point of keeping you two around, then?"

"Good to know what this friendship meant," George laughs.

"What, did you really expect that I was only here for your charm and somewhat good looks?" I shrug.

"Hey, look at that! She gave us charm this time!" Fred says, in a mock-excited voice. "And  _somewhat_ good looks!"

"We are moving  _up_ , Freddie!" George says, and they exchange high-fives.

I look at the both of them for a long time, trying very hard not to smile.

"Why do I even  _talk_ to you two?" I wonder aloud.

"Apparently, because of our charm and  _somewhat_ good looks," Fred replies. "And I use the term  _somewhat_ only because I am quoting you. Every else can see that we're  _gorgeous_."

"If that makes you feel better," I shrug, smirking and turning away, continuing to clean.

I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn around, and not much to my surprise, I turn to find Fred right in front of me.

"You sure about that?" he asks, confidence clear in his low voice.

I raise an eyebrow challengingly, bringing my chin up, as though to size him up, smirking. But my heart rate has increased rapidly, and all I can think about are his eyes and his hair and his endless amount of freckles and his noise and his cheeks and his chin and his ears and his lips - oh, God,  _his lips._

Could I kiss them? God, I wanted to kiss them. I wanted to kiss them until I risked fainting from lack of oxygen and even then continue on kissing them.

But my common sense caught up with my wild desires, and I could sense George there awkwardly trying to look away from the scene unfolding, and I know that this must be ridiculously awkward for him, and I know that if there will ever be more snogging for me and Fred in the future, this might not be good context.

So, I decide to salvage the situation, squeeze the sponge I have in my hand, and slap it against his cheek.

I grin at his stunned reaction, and George starts laughing so hard he has to sit down.

"Is that how you wanna play?" Fred asks, smirking. I just shrug, trying to suppress my laughter.

He reaches over for one of the buckets, and I realize too late what he's going to do. With a loud splashing, he throws the bucket of water at me, and I'm doused from head to toe.

I stand there in shock, a smile forming on my face, and all I can find in myself to say is, "I'm  _so_ glad I didn't go with that white shirt."

Fred mumbles under his breath. I can distinctly hear, "Well, that makes one of us."

"Hey!" I say, and I throw another sponge at him. "I heard that!"

"Shit," he mumbles, before throwing his own sponge at me.

I grab a bucket, and get my revenge at him, dousing him with soapy water. He laughs, extending his arms at either side, looking down at his wet body, and I try not to notice how nice his body looks, now that the t-shirt clinging to him shows it off.

"Funny," he says. "Real funny. I notice you're drying off -  _somewhat_. Why don't I fix that?" He starts to approach me slowly, arms extending to hug me. "Give me a hug, why don't you?"

I let out a laugh. "You're insane."

"Come on, you know you want to," he grins, approaching even closer.

"Sorry, no," I laugh.

I go to turn away from him, and he wraps his arms around my waist from behind, lifting me off my feet and spinning me around. But due to the wet floor, eventually he slips and we fall to the ground, me on top of him. I twist around awkwardly so that we're facing each other, and I grin, wondering if he could hear my rapid heartbeat.

Before I can say something witty to save myself, however, he flips us around so that he's on top of me. He brings his lips to my ears and whispers, "I win," sending shivers down my spine. He lifts his head to smirk at me, and I try to find something to say, but I'm utterly speechless, and all I can think of it that we're soaking wet and on the floor and Fred is on top of me. Which wouldn't be very clever to say at all.

I don't have to say anything, however, because Fred gets off of me after a moment, gets to his feet, and then extends his hand for me to take. Smiling awkwardly, I take it and use it to help me to my feet. I wonder what Remus would do is he saw that scene, and suddenly get the strange desire to laugh.

I turn over to look at George, and see him pretending to vomit into a bucket. Fred and I exchange looks, grab a sponge, and throw it at him.

"Hey! That's two against one, that's not fair!" he protests, his hands still poised above his face to protect it.

"All's fair in love and war, Georgie," I say. "You should know that."

"Okay, fine," he says, getting his own sponge and glaring at us. "Bring it on."

And with that, we launch into the most intense sponge/water fight in world history.


	9. Not Completely Forgiven

**Ours**

**Chapter Nine: Not Completely Forgiven**

 

The day Harry is scheduled to arrive, I awake feeling both excitement and dread. How is he going to react to the fact that I just left him behind? I had no choice, but will he listen? No doubt he'll already be in a foul mood with everyone, this certainly will not help his mood.

I try to ignore the feeling of dread and focus solely on the feeling of excitement; whenever Ron and Hermione discuss what we ought to say when we first see him, I play dumb, acting as though there'd be no reason Harry would be angry. I can tell this annoys them, but eventually they have no choice but to stop bringing it up - at least in front of me, which is my goal, even though I couldn't quite explain it to anyone if they asked why it was my goal.

 

***

 

When the advance guard goes to get Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I all go into Ron's room. Ron is sitting on the bed, Hermione and I pacing up and down the room in opposite directions.

"Why are you pacing?" Ron asks after a while, eyebrows raised. "Nothing's wrong, is there?"

They've been doing this all day, trying to catch me off guard. I've been able to shrug it off, most of the time without the slightest hesitation.

This is one of those times.

"'M excited," I say. "Can't just sit around when I'm like this, you know?"

"Can't remember the last time I've seen you so jam-packed with excitement," Ron says. "At least, not to the extent where you couldn't sit still."

"Well, just because I've got a wider emotional range than you, doesn't mean you need to act like it's a bad thing," I counter.

Ron opens his mouth to retort, but at that precise moment the door opens. We all whip around so quickly to look that I'm surprised none of us get whiplash.

Just as I'd immediately thought, it's Harry. And quite suddenly I'm filled with the overwhelming desire to hug him or slap him or simply smile, wave and play it cool or run away. Perhaps all of the above.

However, before I can decide on fight or flight, Hermione all but launches herself into Harry's arms, knocking the wind out of him in what looks to be a bone-crushing hug. I'm finding it harder to breathe just watching them.

Before Hermione has even pulled away from Harry, she's into full rambling mode, words tumbling out her mouth at incredible pace. I've noticed that she talks quicker whenever she's nervous. Today she is rambling faster than usual.

"HARRY! Hazel, Ron, he's here! Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us, I bet you have. I know our letters have been useless - but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear not to, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and - and the Ministry hearing! It's outrageous - simply outrageous - I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life threatening situations-"

"Let his breathe, Hermione," Ron says, grinning as he gets up and closes the door behind Harry.

Hermione lets go of Harry, still beaming, and I keep from frowning at both of them. They were not so easygoing a couple of seconds ago.

But now Harry has caught my eyes, and I know that I'll have to hug him if I want to keep up an image that everything is okay - not only to Harry, but Ron and Hermione as well - so I hurry forward and give him a hug. Perhaps one of the most awkward hugs I have ever given, but a hug regardless.

I'm spared the trouble of having to wonder when it's appropriate for me to pull away by a whooshing sound above us, and Hedwig landing on Harry's shoulder.

"Hedwig!" Harry says, and the snowy owl clicks her beak and nibbles his ears affectionately as Harry strokes her feathers.

"She's been in a right state, she has," Ron comments. "Pecked us half to death when she brought us your last letters, look at this-"

He shows Harry a half-healed but still very deep cut on the index finger of his right hand.

"Oh, yeah, sorry about that," Harry says, not sounding one hundred percent sorry, "but I wanted answers, you know-"

"We wanted to give them to you, mate," Ron insists. "Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd end up doing something stupid if you were stuck there all alone without any news, but Dumbledore made us-"

"-swear not to tell me, yeah," Harry cuts him off. "Hermione told me."

And after that, it doesn't take long for the shouting to start. A few of the things he says sting, but I let him get away with it, just this once, because I understand exactly how he's feeling.

Then he takes a deep breath, and turns to face me, looking at me accusingly. "AND YOU! YOU LEFT ME THERE!"

"I know I did," I say firmly. "I had no choice."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAD NO CHOICE? IT'S NOT LIKE THEY MADE YOU COME HERE!"

"No, they didn't," I say, trying hard to keep my cool.

 _I'd act like this, too,_ I remind myself sternly.  _In fact, I did act like this. I'm no different from him, I'm no better._

"They had their own plans to pick you up, much more elaborate ones, and they wouldn't be able to get me while they're doing all that. That was my only chance out. What would you have done?"

"YOU COULD'VE  _TOLD_ ME!" he insists, clearly choosing to ignore my question.

"No, I couldn't have!" I shake my head, getting impatient. "It was a rather surprise visit, I had no time to tell you! And as much as I would've loved to write to you, you know very well that I couldn't tell you everything!"

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO-" he goes on, apparently not hearing me, when there are two loud popping noises, and Fred and George materialize right behind Harry, causing him to jump.

"Stop doing that!" Hermione says weakly.

"Hello, Harry," George says, ignoring Hermione, beaming. "We thought we heard your dulcet tones."

"You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, mate, let it out," Fred says, also grinning widely. "There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you."

I shoot them a glare, which they don't seem to notice, but Harry's desire to shout seems to have evaporated when Fred and George Apparated, though he still looks sullen.

"You two passed you Apparation tests, then?" Harry asks grumpily.

"With distinction," Fred nods, who's holding a very long, flesh coloured string that I recognize immediately as Extendable Ears.

"It would've taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs," Ron reminds them.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," Fred says. "Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with our Extendable Ears. We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs."

"I'd be careful, if I were you," I advice. "If your mum catches you with one of those again... remember what happened last time?"

And by last time, I mean the time Mrs. Weasley caught them listening in on conversations and shouted so long and so loud she awoke all the portraits in the house, and very nearly managed to drown them all out.

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having right now," Fred insists.

The door opens and in walks Ginny, long red hair handing from her face.

"Oh, hello, Harry!" she says brightly, "I thought I heard your voice!" I almost laugh at that one. Turning to Fred and George, she says, "It's a no-go on the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"How d'you know?" asks George, looking crestfallen.

"Tonks told me how to find out," she replies. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs, and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."

Fred heaves a deep sigh.

"Shame, I really wanted to see what old Snape was up to."

"Snape!" Harry says quickly. "Is he here?"

"Yeah," George replies, closing the door behind Ginny, and he, Fred, and Ginny sit down on one of the beds. "Giving a report; top secret."

"Git," Fred says idly.

"He's on our side," Hermione chastises.

"Doesn't stop him being a git," Ron snorts. "The way he looks at us when he sees us..."

"Bill doesn't like him either," Ginny adds, as though that settles the matter.

Harry spends the rest of the time until dinner asking multiple questions - most of all the questions I had asked when I first arrived, I notice. It's when the  _Daily Prophet_ is mentioned that I really tense up. Because that's another thing I haven't told him, and I know I should've done so ages ago.

So I take it upon myself to explain the mentions of himself in the  _Prophet,_ how he's becoming a bit of a joke. I can feel him getting angrier at me, and waves of guilt hit me hard, but I try to ignore them. Fortunately, before I can focus on my guilt for too long, Mrs. Weasley is calling us for dinner. Harry gives Ron, Hermione, and I a glance, and though it's brief, the meaning is plain; we have not been completely forgiven.


	10. Too Honest Honesty Hour

**Ours**

**Chapter Ten: Too Honest Honesty Hour**

 

Harry quickly gets used to the strangeness of Grimmauld Place, even Kreacher and Sirius' mothers' piercing shrieks, something that I have to admire. I still jump whenever Kreacher appears out of nowhere, or when something awaken's Sirius' mother - and by extension, every other portrait - as though I'm the one who's  _new_ to it all.

He also manages to get more information about the Order than any of the rest of us combined, which makes Fred and George quite a bit bitter ("We're the ones who are of age!"), though they understand why Harry has more right to a bit more information. Ginny wasn't allowed to be there when they told us what they had, though that was no problem for her, since the minute Hermione and I saw her again she didn't have to wait a moment for us to five into a recount of the past events.

Harry is also cleared of all charges during the trial, due to help from both Dumbledore and me. Though Harry is relieved and excited to be going back to Hogwarts, he's both confused at the fact that Dumbledore completely ignored him during the whole trial, and just slightly guilty, because Sirius had started to get really excited about having Harry around, only to go back to sulking after he won the trial. Ron, Hermione, and I try to convince him it's stupid to feel guilty, but I know he can't quite shake the feeling.

The next Thursday after the trial, I find myself with Fred, sitting cross-legged on his bed, him across from me. I raise an eyebrow, prompting him to begin explain why he had called this so-called meeting. When he doesn't, I take matters into my own hands.

"Sooo? Any specific reason we've been gathered here today on this dreary Thursday afternoon?"

"Yes, actually. You may remember, quite some time ago, we had a bit of an honestly hour?"

His words send a jolt through my body.

"I - I remember," I say, trying with immense difficulty not to sound nervous.

He grins. "Good, because I didn't really want to explain it again. All right it's twelve fifteen, we'll stop one fifteen. First question, you go."

"Why are you so keen to have this now?" I ask immediately.

"You'll see," he replies just as quickly, a mischievous smile on his face.

"That's cheating, though, isn't it?" I say, brow furrowed, sitting up straighter. "You're supposed to give me a  _straight answer_."

"I made it up, I can bend the rules," he shrugs. When I open my mouth to protest, he quickly asks his own question, and that's how it is for most of the hour, just like last time, the conversation light and teasing. It's only in the last ten minutes that things get serious.

"So, we've got twenty minutes left. Are you going to tell me where the urge to do this came from?" I ask.

"All right, fine," he grins. "If I remember correctly, our last honesty hour ended with a bit of a cliffhanger."

I feel a rush of panic, but decide to play it cool.

"I don't quite remember it. Refresh my memory?"

"Well, you told me the story of Delilah and Frank, that you were Delilah, but you never told me who your Frank was," he says, and starts to trace shapes up my arm, "and to me, that's much too unfair. All or nothing, know what I mean?"

I look from his hand on my arm, to his face.

"I suppose,"

"So?"

"Sooo?" I say, eyebrows raised, trying to drag this out for as long as I can.

"Sooo, who's Frank?" he asks, with a hint of impatience.

I look around the room, my eyes settling at the clock ticking, slow and steady, unlike my heart. I fidget nervously, and he glances down at my hands, and slides his own to take both of my hands in his. He smirks when I turn my attention back to him, clearly pleased that he'd done so.

After a moment, though, I look back down at my lap, and out of the corner of my eye I can see his frustrated and disappointed expression.

"Come on, Hazel," he says, his voice surprisingly soft. "Talk to me.  _Look_ at me, at least."

It takes a few moments, my heart rate rapidly increasing. Finally I look back up at him, letting out a resigned sigh.

"You, Fred. You're my - my Frank."


	11. Together

**Ours**

**Chapter Eleven: Together**

 

I wait for him to reply, staring at him earnestly, desperately. I can feel his hands in mine more than ever before, and I can tell that it's on the tip of his tongue, he's about to say it, he has to say it.

And yet, he says nothing. At all. Just continues to stare at me, surprise, and maybe something else on his face.

My eyes brim with tears, but I blink them back impatiently. I don't want to cry, and I refuse to. Not this time. I sit, looking at Fred, almost frozen.

"You know what?" I finally manage to say, when he opens his mouth to speak. "Jus - just forget it."

I stand and turn around, walking agonizingly slow towards the door. I wish for him to call me back, to tell me that he feels the same way, but he doesn't. I'd turn back and listen to him the moment he called my name, but he stays silent. Finally, my hand finds the doorknob. I resist the urge to look back at him, open the door, and walk out, closing the door behind me.

 _So much for that,_ I think dully, as I start walking up the stairs to the room I share with Hermione and Ginny.

I'd been so sure ever since I'd arrived at Grimmauld Place that Fred reciprocated my feelings for him at least a tiny bit.

Apparently not, however... Perhaps I'd gone about it the wrong way? I think I was being quite clear, I was one hundred percent sincere. There's nothing better I could've done. So, that's that, then. I'm not good enough for him, and Fred certainly knows it. Tears threaten to spill out of my eyes, but I blink them back impatiently.

 _I will not cry over him_ , I repeat determinedly.  _I will not cry over him. I'm done with crying over him. If he doesn't like me, then that's his loss. It's not my loss, it's his._

But I can't bring myself to believe it.

"What's up, Hazel?" Hermione asks, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Apparently, she notices that I'm upset, because she suddenly frowns. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I told Fred how I feel about him," I reply dully.

"Really? That's brilliant!" Hermione says, grinning just as suddenly, but the frown returns quickly. "Oh, Hazel. I'm so sorry-"

"Whatever," I shrug. "The good thing about this is that I don't have to waste my time over him anymore. I don't have to spend hours at a time wondering if he feels the same way. I don't have to confuse myself trying to wonder what his actions mean. I know how he feels, and that's that. I can move on, and I never have to think 'what if?'. In a way, it's a load off my chest."

This new view on the situation even surprises me, but I know it's true. The lingering question of how Fred felt about me was no longer relevant. It isn't the answer that I'd hoped for, and, admittedly, expected, but it's over with. Perhaps now, I can find someone new... someone who doesn't confuse the fuck out of me for a year, before completely breaking my heart...

"Hazel, are you sure you're all right?" Hermione asks.

"Fine," I lie immediately.

"But-"

"You know, Hermione, I think I just want to be alone for a bit," I say, looking over at her earnestly.

"All right," Hermione says, nodding feverishly. "Yeah, all right. I'll see you later."

"See you," I say, nodding to her, before changing course to the room where Buckbeak is kept.

I'll be left well alone there, which is exactly what I'm going for. The only potential problem is that Buckbeak won't reciprocate my bow, or Sirius will come in to feed him. They're small concerns, however, so when I open the door, and bow to Buckbeak, I allow myself to feel satisfied for thinking of such a clever place to hideaway from everyone.

Buckbeak bows back to me, and I walk towards him, and start stroking his feathers softly. His head nudges into my arm affectionately, and I smile at the action. In the back of my mind, I feel grateful for Buckbeak, as he's helping me smile even though I feel horrible.

"Boys are stupid, Beaky," I tell him, as though he'd be able to understand.

"I won't deny that," a voice says, making me jump about a foot in the air.

I whirl around, my heart rate increasing. I see Sirius standing there, holding a bag of what must be dead rats, and wearing a grin on his face.

"Gave you a scare, did I?" he asks, chuckling.

"Sirius, that wasn't funny!" I say earnestly, clutching my heart with my hand. "You nearly gave me a heart attack, you did."

"Not my fault you scare easily," he says, laughing his bark-like laugh.

I simply shake my had and roll my eyes, continuing to stroke Buckbeak's feathers as Sirius opens the bag, and tosses one of the rats to Buckbeak's mouth, which he snaps into his mouth. Normally, around adults, I wouldn't reprimand them, nor would I roll my eyes and shake my head at them, but Sirius is okay with banter, he's very easy going. I like to think that he likes me, but I have the feeling that's simply because I'm one of Harry's best friends.

"So, you're having boy trouble, then?" he asks, with a grin.

"When am I not having boy trouble, at this point?" I reply, sighing and running a hand through my hair.

"I suppose it's Fred, again?" Sirius prompts, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," I reply simply, seeing no point in lying, stopping my stroking of Buckbeak; however, as soon as I stop, Buckbeak's head nudges into my arm, indicating for me to continue.

"What did he do?"

"I suppose it's more what he didn't do," I reply. "I told him I fancied him and he just stood there. I mean, he could've at least had the sincerity to say  _something_."

"He didn't say  _anything_?" Sirius asks in disbelief, tossing Buckbeak another rat, and when I shake my head, he lets out a long, low whistle. "He's got a lot to learn."

I just shrug in reply.

"Listen," Sirius said, "it's like you said, boys are right idiots. He was just surprised, I reckon-"

"So surprised he couldn't have said  _anything_?" I mumble in disbelief.

"-he'll come around soon enough," Sirius believes, either not hearing me, or deciding not to comment on it.

"Well, what if I don't care if he comes around?" I ask, almost defiantly.

"You're over him that quickly?" Sirius asks, looking extremely amused.

"Well, no, but - but, I don't want him to come around," I say, trying not to feel too annoyed by Sirius' expression. "He had his chance."

"So, if he started snogging you-"

"That's completely - that's just totally different-"

"Not really," Sirius says, laughing.

"Entirely different circumstances," I splutter, and I can feel myself blushing.

"Just give him a little time," Sirius insisted, sounding still more amused.

"Whatever," I say, still blushing, turning to face Buckbeak's grey feathers so that Sirius doesn't have to see my red cheeks.

Sirius continues feeding Buckbeak, and when I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, I can see that he still looks very amused. When the door knocks, we both look around, slightly confused. People rarely come in here.

"Come in," Sirius calls, and the door opens.

Much to my horror, Fred enters the room, looking slightly sheepish. I look away from Buckbeak, my hand resting on his neck, staring at Fred, feeling mortified. He stares back at me, giving me a small smile, but I don't return it. Sirius looks from me, to Fred, and back for what feels like hours.

"You know what? I think I'll just go," he finally says, a slight smirk on his face. "I'm done feeding Buckbeak."

He pats Buckbeak for a moment, before walking out the door, closing it behind him.

"Uh, hey," Fred finally says, after an unbearably long silence.

"'Hey'? ' _Hey_ '?" I repeat, flaring up at once. "After what just happened, that's really the best you can do?"

When Fred shrugs cluelessly at me, I scoff at him, rolling my eyes. I turn back to Buckbeak.

"I'm going to go, too," I tell him. "I'll come back later, all right? Don't hurt him," I add sternly to Buckbeak, when I notice him eyeing Fred challengingly. "He's harmless enough, promise."

I give him one last pat, before striding across the room, pushing past Fred. When I reach the door, I hear, much to my dismay, footsteps behind me, signifying that Fred's pursuing me. Exasperated, I hurry my pace. I don't know where I want to go, but I know for sure that I want it to be away from him.

I can feel his hand closing on my shoulder, and he forces me to turn around and face him.

" _What_ , Fred-" _  
_

But I'm unable to finish my sentence, because Fred takes my face in his hand, and kisses me. Eyes wide, I stand in shock, unable to register what's going on. When the shock subsides, I start kissing him back, my hands finding their way to his chest, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt. He pulls away after a moment, looking at me directly in the eyes.

"I can't just forget it," Fred says. "Honestly, Hazel, I though I was being obvious. Everyone else did, too. I fancy you back, couldn't you tell?"

"No," I reply honestly, but a wide smile spreads across my face. "No, I couldn't tell."

And with that, I lean forward and kiss him again. One of his hands go into my hair, playing with it with his fingers, while the other goes to the small of my back, pushing me closer to him.

"But it doesn't - oh," I can hear Ron's voice say, followed by an abrupt halt of the footsteps that had before been sounding near a door to my left. "Oh."

"Well, would you look at that," George's voice says, sounding greatly amused. When Fred kisses me harder, as though to indicate he has no intention of wanting to pull away just yet, George adds, "You guys can come up for air, you know."

I pull away from Fred, laughing, though I can feel a blush on my cheeks. Harry, Ron, Hermione, George and Ginny are all standing there, all looking both amused and surprised. Hermione gives me a confused look, as though saying 'I thought he didn't like you'. I simply shrug in reply, as though to say, 'I thought so, too'.

"Oh, lovely," George says, suddenly sounding mischievous. "I'll just announce the new couple to everyone, shall I?"

"Oh, George, please don't," I say pleadingly, knowing he'll do something embarrassing.

"You'll have to tell them eventually," George sings. "I'm just doing you a favour and doing it for you. No need to thank me, dear."

And without further ado, he walks off down the hall. The rest follow him, looking extremely amused and excited to see whatever amusing way he was going to announce his discovery of Fred and I snogging. I groan, and go to follow him, but Fred grabs my arm, pulling me back.

"What is it?" I ask, a slight smile crossing my face once more.

"Uh, are we a couple, then?" he asks uncertainly. "I mean, we've just snogged, but we did that a couple times last year, too, so..." he trails off, looking slightly awkward, before continuing. "I mean, I suppose this isn't a very good way to ask you to be my girlfriend, but it's kind of confusing, honestly. And it'll be really awkward explaining to them that we're actually not dating if you don't want to, so-"

I cut him off my kissing him. This kiss is shorter than the last, but the message is still clear.

"You idiot, of course I'll be your girlfriend," I say, grinning.

"In that case, I'm your idiot now," he says, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"I'm all right with that," I laugh. "Now, come on, or else they'll think we're shagging."

"That's probably what George told them," he says, laughing, as I take his hand and drag him down the hall.

"If that's the case, I wouldn't be laughing," I joke, grinning.

"Why not?" Fred asks, confused.

"Just imagine what your mother would say to that," I explain.

"Oh, Merlin," he says, and I turn around to see that he suddenly looks horrified. This makes me laugh harder.

"Fred," I say suddenly, a sudden fear sweeping over me, as he draws level with me, and I'm no longer dragging him; just holding onto his hand.

"Mhmm?" he says.

"What if you're parents don't like that we're dating?" I ask, my fear growing stronger by the second.

"Come off it, Mum and Dad love you," he says, looking at me in disbelief. "I reckon Mum'll start planning us a wedding."

I let out a laugh, but I'm still not reassured. Fred seems to notice.

"Why would you think they wouldn't like us dating?" he asks.

"Well, I mean, I suppose they like me and everything, but what if they only like me as a friend of their children, and not as one of their son's girlfriend?" I explain.

"You're kidding, right?" he asks, stopping. When I just continue to stare up at him nervous, he takes both my hands in his, looking deeply into my eyes. "Listen, Hazel, the whole family loves you. And I'd be surprised if one of them didn't know how I felt about you, considering the fact that I wouldn't shut up about you this summer."

"Tonks told me that..." I say vaguely.

"I know for a fact that they're going to completely love the fact that you're my girlfriend. And if they don't," he adds, apparently reading my expression, "then whatever. Nothing's getting in the way of us, d'you understand? Nothing. Now that you're finally mine, this isn't going to end that easily."

I smile at him, and, go up on tiptoe, my lips brush against his. My eyes flutter close at the contact, and I can feel his thumbs drawing circles on the back of my hand. My heels touch back down on the ground, and without a word, but a smile still on my face, I drag him down the rest of the way to the kitchen again.

Once in the kitchen, it becomes apparent that George had made some sort of announcement to everyone, and it certainly wasn't sexual, for Mrs. Weasley attacks us in a hug the moment we appear through the door.

"We've just heard!" she says, holding us so tightly she knocks the air right out of me. "This is so wonderful - so, so wonderful!"

"Mum, let go, you're suffocating us," Fred groans.

Mrs. Weasley let's go, positively beaming at us.

"And you said they wouldn't approve," he murmurs to me.

"Told you you only needed to give him some time," Sirius says to me, with a grin. I laugh a little, shaking my head.

"I knew he was your boyfriend," Tonks says, grinning.

"You were a bit early, but I suppose so," I laugh.

The dinner is light-hearted, full of talking and laughing, and Fred and I exchanging so many looks that at one point George pretends to throw up on his food, earning light chastising from Mrs. Weasley.

After dinner, Fred pulls me into his room, where he promptly starts kissing me again, something I reciprocate with enthusiasm. Blatant want is laced with our words as, between kisses, we whisper about how long we've wanted the other, how happy we are that we're finally together.

He takes my hand, and raising an eyebrow, asks, "So, how long have you liked me for?"

I'm hesitant to answer, but shrug and decide it doesn't  _really_ matter.

"Since the beginning of third year - my third year, your fifth," I reply.

"Really?" he says, surprised. "So you liked me when we - we-?"

"Yes, I did," I say awkwardly.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he apologizes.

"Whatever, it's fine," I shake it off. "How about you?"

"Sometime last year, but I think I liked you before, just didn't realize it."

I smile at that, go up on my tiptoes, and kiss him softly, and that soft kiss soon turns passionate, pulling each other closer, hands touching and playing with hair, running up and down bodies, only pulling away for moments. I feel as though I might explode with affection. But if I did, it might just be okay, so long as I was kissing Fred Weasley beforehand.


	12. Only Kissing

**Ours**

**Chapter Twelve: Only Kissing**

 

Fred likes kissing. I mean, he  _really_ likes it. I guess I'd sort of discovered it last year, but now I'm really learning it, when he pulls me into his room at random points of the day, pulling me close to him, and kissing me until we were both out of breath and still reluctant to stop. We also talk, sit in silence, prank, kiss, Fred will do little spells to entertain me, kiss, prank, talk - did I mention we kiss? We do that a lot.

But it gets increasingly harder to stay happy and focused on your boyfriend when the day of September 1st draws ever nearer, nobody's gotten their Hogwarts letter yet, and there's a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach that tells you this year might not be the best.

"Hey, look at this one," Fred nudges me with his toe.

"Hmm?" I snap out of my train of thought, looking up at him idly.

His shoulders sag slightly when he realizes I wasn't paying attention to whatever he was doing, and I feel a short stab of guilt.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I was thinking. You know, people do that a lot. Show me again."

He waves his wand around, and a swirl of different colours, each one more beautiful than the last, burst from his wand, swirling through the room.

"Yeah, nice, really pretty," I nod absently, looking around the room before looking back down at my lap.

After a while I glance back up at him to see a somewhat disappointed look on his face.

"What?" I say, acting as though I don't know what.

"You know, you could at least act interested. You're friends with Ron and got along well enough with Percy - I  _know_  you can pretend."

"I am interested!" I insist, hoping I don't sound too eager. "Really! You should go into - um-" I gesture around the now fading colours idly -"making rooms look all pretty instead of Weasley Wizard Wheezes."

"Thanks," he says sarcastically, but there's a tiny smile on his face. "Look, it's clear you've got a lot on your mind."

"I do not!" I say defensively.

I don't say anything to that, looking around the room. The colours have now completely disappeared, and the room looks more grey and gloomy than ever.

"I don't see why you can't just - just say what you  _feel_ , for God's sake," he murmurs. "It'd make everything - it'd be all so much easier... not supposed to be easy..." he adds as an afterthought, seeming to be talking to himself now, "but-"

"Not like you'r much better," I counter.

He looks round at me, an amused smile forming on his face. "Good point."

We look at each other in dead silence, occasionally looking away when the tension came to be too much. I look away for the longest, which gets excruciatingly worse when he decides to look at me determinedly. Eventually, I let out a small sigh and look back at him.

"Look, I'm sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind right now, okay? And-"

"There's a shock," he mutters.

"You're not making it easy to be mature,"

"Sorry, continue," he gestures, waving his wand around absently, which makes sparks shoot out of it. He jumps a little at this, but gets over his shock very quickly, being replaced with mild interest. "Funny. Haven't done that in a while."

He shrugs, before turning back to me expectantly.

"Right. Well, like I was saying, I've got a lot on my mind about - um - school stuff, and - I don't know. I'll be fine soon enough."

"And pay loads of attention to me?" he grins.

"We'll see about that one, alright, Weasley?" I say, laughing, running a hand through my hair. He raises his hands in the air in surrender, his grin widening. "Fine by me."

I smile, looking away from him around the room, which now seems as though he might've brightened it again with another spell. When I look back at Fred, he has his arms open and extended towards me. I raise an eyebrow, indicating for him to explain.

"Come on," he says, gesturing towards his chest. "You know you want to."

"You're so strange," I laugh.

"But you like it, so come on," he says.

Grinning, I give in and walk over to him, falling against the warmth of his chest, and he wraps his arms tightly around me, burying his head into my neck.

When we pull away, I kiss him quickly, but he pulls me back in for a much longer one. He holds my face with his hand, but as the kiss becomes more heated, his arm drops down to my waist, the other on the back of my legs, and pulls me onto his lap and impossibly closer to his body. I run my hands through his hair, tugging on clumps of it, because I learned after not too many kisses that it drove him crazy. And he reacts just the same, letting out a small groan against my lips, before tightening his grip around my waist and pulling me so close to him that there's no space between our bodies.

Yeah, like I said, Fred likes kissing.

But before he can blow me away once again with the extent that he likes kissing, there's a knock on the door and in comes Remus without much more of a moment's notice. I all but fly off Fred's lap, except in my haste I end up falling to the floor. I scramble to my feet, looking at Remus awkwardly.

Remus, it seems, is trying - and failing - to not look both embarrassed and murderous.

"Terribly sorry to interrupt, but Fred, your mum was calling for you. It's apparent now why you didn't hear," he adds, more to himself. "And in any case, it's supper soon."

"Right," Fred says, looking both extremely awkward and just a bit amused.

He gets to his feet, and gives Remus an awkward smile as he walks by him. The one Remus returns looks very strained, and it makes me wish that Fred's hair wasn't so messy.

Once Fred leaves, the room becomes dead silent, leaving me to play with my hands and wonder where I'm supposed to look.

"Don't you think you might be moving a bit... fast with Fred?" he finally says.

I look over at him, confused. "We were only kissing."

"Well, yes, I understand that, but it wasn't exactly - it wasn't... well, anyway, the point is that you're only fifteen and Fred's seventeen."

"Thanks for the reminder," I say, pretending to be innocent, even though I had a feeling as to where this conversation was headed.

"And I was seventeen once too, and I've known some seventeen-year-olds with a fair few qualities like Fred's, and I know sometimes they like to go a bit farther than just kissing-"

Before I can let out any noise of indignation or protest, Sirius walks in, grinning, and says, "Talking about me again, Remus?"

"Not necessarily  _about_ you, but you did come to mind, yes," Remus replies easily.

"What's going on?" Sirius asks, looking from me to Remus. "You giving our innocent and currently mildly horrified friend a nice conversation about sex?"

"He was leading to it," I answer. "Until you were my saviour and interrupted."

"Hey, it's awkward and everything, but he's got a point," he points out. "If Fred's anything like the teenagers we knew in our day - and I have a feeling he is - then this talk must be had."

"You mean anything like the teenage you were," Remus says, eyebrows raised.

"Whatever," Sirius shrugs. "Besides, don't pretend you weren't just as bad." When Remus gives him a look, he adds, "All right, you weren't just as bad, but you were no innocent either."

"Well, I'l be sure to keep all this insightful advice in mind," I say, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

"Oh, we're not even close to done, are we, Remus?" Sirius says, smirking. "We'll just spare you for a bit longer, because it's supper."

"Fantastic," I groan.

 

True to their word, not long after dinner do they find me once more, Sirius a bit more zealously than Remus, and give me an unnecessarily long conversation about sex.

"We're gathered here today to discuss - well, we all know," Sirius says matter-of-factly.

"Oh, my God," I groan, putting my head in my hands. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Believe it," Sirius grins. "You know what, I think I'll let ol' Remus here start, since it's him who brought this whole thing about - well, arguably, Hazel and Fred did, but whatever."

Remus gives Sirius a look, but Sirius simply pretends to be oblivious.

"Well, all  _I_ wanted to say was that sometimes older boys sometimes take younger girls and will sort of - you know, they'll take advantage of them for - well, for sex."

"And you think Fred would do something like that?" I scoff.

"Not necessarily, no," Remus shakes his head, "but it's never a bag thing to exercise caution."

"Especially when it comes to teenage boys," Sirius adds, nodding.

"This is ridiculous," I shake my head.

"Ridiculous or not, you can't deny we have a point," Remus insists gently.

"But Fred wouldn't do that! I've known him for four years, I think I'd know if he was that kind of person!"

"You never know when it comes to boys," Sirius points out. "I think you know that."

"Okay - well - whatever," I say, not wanting to admit he has a point. "You know, Remus, it seems like you're not giving Fred much of a chance, which seems more than a bit unfair."

"You know, she's got a point," Sirius says, and I smile approvingly. "What's the guy ever done besides like her and do something about it? He reminds me a bit of ourselves when we were younger."

"Which is what I'm worried about, Sirius," he says, a faint smile on his face, which Sirius returns at the comment. "I just don't want anything to happen to you, Hazel."

"I get you're concerned and I appreciate that you actually care and everything, but at the same time, well, calm down a bit."

Before Remus can say anything, Sirius says, "This is getting a bit personal, and I've got something to say still."

"Fire away," I sigh, slightly annoyed that he's interrupting a conversation that I'd been thinking for quite a while had to be had.

"Well, first of all, use protection," he says in a business-like tone. Remus, however, gives him a look and he quickly corrects himself by saying, "No - no, scratch that. Don't use protection. Never use protection, because-"

"Sirius!" Remus and I say at the same time.

"You're not letting me finish!" he says earnestly. "Never use it, because you shouldn't need to, because you should never have sex. There. Isn't it always better when you let me finish?"

"Not really," I groan, burying my head in my hands.

And so it continues, Remus trying to get something serious in the conversation, and Sirius talking about sex in a extremely serious manner. No amount of "Guys, this is getting ridiculous!" or "Yes, I already know!" or "Yes, I understand, I'm fifteen, not five" gets them to stop.

The next time I see Fred after the talk, I punch him in the chest lightly. "Thanks a lot, it's because of you I had to go through a ridiculous conversation about sex with Sirius and my  _godfather_."

Fred laughs out loud at this. "Because he caught us snogging?"

"Yes," I say, crossing my arms and trying not to look as amused about the situation as he is.

"That's hilarious! I wish I could've been a part of that!" he says, laughing.

"No, you don't," I shake my head.

"C'mon, Hazel, lighten up,"

"It's not that," I insist. "It's that, no,  _you_ wouldn't want to be a part of that."

"Why not?" he frowns.

"Because something Remus seemed eager to touch on was how older guys sometimes like to - erm - I don't know how exactly to put this - but-"

"Take advantage of girls younger than them?" he says quietly. "He really thinks that lowly of me?"

"No - no!" I say eagerly, and he gives me a disbelieving look. "That's really not necessarily what he said. I'm sure he likes you, and I don't seem to think he doesn't - um - trust you, he just - he's just protective, that's all."

"Well, I don't exactly want my girlfriend's protective godfather thinking I'm going to take advantage of her," he insists. "I'm going to have to win him over."

"How exactly are you planning to do that?" I ask him, eyebrows raised.

"The same way I won you over, of course," he grins. "My charm, wit, and dashing good looks."

"Right," I say, grinning. "I'll try my best to get him to warm up to this whole you and me dating thing, too. It's not that he hates you or that he doesn't trust you, it really isn't, he just doesn't want anything bad to happen. He's worried, that's all."

"Well, as your boyfriend that would quite like the approval of the people who care for you in your life, it's my job to make him unworried. But help would be nice," he grins at me.

I smile at him, before reaching up on tip toe to kiss him quickly. He pulls me back in for a longer kiss, running his hand up and down my body.

When we pull away and my heels touch back down to the ground, I tell him, "I'll do what I can."


	13. Prefects

**Ours**

**Chapter Thirteen: Prefects**

 

It's surprisingly easy getting Remus to warm up to Fred and I being a couple. All I really had to do was not show much PDA, except still show subtle signs of yes, we are a couple and we are dating and we do relationship things and I'd appreciate it if you, yes you, warmed up to it a bit. Things like holding hands, sitting next to each other at mealtimes, that kind of stuff. This also included bringing him up in casual conversation now and then if he wasn't around, but never actually talking  _about_ him. Just occasionally relating whatever conversation topic to Fred in some tiny way - not too often, though, because I know how it gets annoying when people only talk about their girlfriend or boyfriend.

Eventually, it becomes clear that Remus is approving of the two of us - or at least, close enough to be being approving. When I'm certain of this, I go off to find Fred to tell him.

"Congratulations," I tell him, pecking him on the cheek and smiling cheekily. "You've won him over."

There's no need to elaborate on who "him" is.

"Really?" he asks, and when I nod, he grins. "Ha! I knew it could be done! Told you nobody could resist me!"

"True," I say, taking a step closer to him. "Especially not me."

"Well, tell me something I don't know," he replies, before leaning down to kiss me.

I kiss him back, amazed at how he can make butterflies in my stomach turn to birds of prey and make my legs feel like jelly.

 

***

 

As the end of the holidays approach, I find myself dreaming of Hogwarts more and more; of the grounds, of what it'll be like to play Quidditch again after over a year, to see Hagrid again, the large castle, even the classes. I can't believe I was dreaming of doing essays for McGonagall and try to make potions with Snape breathing down my neck, waiting for me to mess up, though I do think it's mostly because I just couldn't wait to get out of dusty, musty, still fairly creepy house that was Grimmauld Place.

The fact of the matter is simply that living at the headquarters of an anti-Voldemort movement isn't nearly as exciting as I thought it would be. Even with members of the Order visiting regularly, adding excitement in wondering if I'll spot anyone I know, considering I don't know much but what was told on the first night Harry came, it's all rapidly becoming less and less interesting.

So, when Hermione comes bursting into our room on the last day of holidays, with three envelopes in hand, announcing that our letters from Hogwarts have arrived, I'm more than just a little excited. And more than just a little relieved.

"They certainly took their time," I say, taking my letter from her and immediately ripping it open.

"I know," Ginny agrees. "I was starting to think they'd forgotten and there just wouldn't be any school this year, or something."

"Good thing they remembered, then," I say, scanning through the book list. "I would go insane if I had to stay here much longer."

We exchange looks, and it becomes clear to me that they agree.

"Only two new ones for us, Hermione," I say, wanting to change the subject. " _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5_ by Miranda Goshawk, and  _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard."

"Only two new ones for you," she corrects. "I have to get a new book for Arithmancy-"

She cuts herself off immediately, causing Ginny and I to look up at her.

"What?" Ginny asks. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

"I'm a prefect! I got made a prefect!"

What a surprise.

"Oh, I can't believe it! This is perfect, I've always wanted to be made a prefect! This makes it more likely for me to become Head Girl, doesn't it? I'm sure it does, because Per - I mean, almost all Head Boys or Girls start off as prefects. I wonder who the other prefect is for Gryffindor? I bet it's Harry - yes, yes it probably is. It has to be, hasn't it? Look at everything he's done, who else could it be? I'm going to go see!"

With that, she hurries out the door, not shutting the door behind her in her rush.

Ginny and I exchange looks.

"Do you - d'you think Harry's going to be made prefect?" Ginny asks me backwardly.

"Not really, no," I reply, exhaling deeply. "He's gotten into too much trouble, I think."

"Well, Hermione's really gotten into the same amount of trouble," Ginny points out.

"That's true," I say, though we both know that I was talking about a different kind of trouble. "Maybe I should go supervise that situation," I decide. "Never know what might happen."

"Good luck," Ginny says, grinning.

I hurry out of the room, up the stairs and to Harry and Ron's room. I manage to catch up behind Hermione. She bangs the door open and runs into the room, hair flying and cheeks flushed. I follow after her.

"Did you - did you get-?" she says as greeting.

I scan the room quickly, and find Ron, Fred, George, and Harry - who is, much to my surprise, holding a prefect badge.

Hermione spots the badge in Harry's hand just as soon as I do, and lets out a shriek.

"I knew it, I knew it!" she says excitedly, brandishing her letter. "Me too, Harry, me too!"

I give Harry a quick, surprise look. He returns it with a shake of his head.

"No," he says quickly, handing the badge to Ron. "It's Ron, not me."

This day is getting more and more surprising.

"It - what?" Hermione says, clearly baffled.

"Ron's prefect, not me," Harry says.

I look at Fred and George in the room quickly, and realize they're going to be giving him hell for this. I hope he gives them a detention, at least once. I mean this in the kindest way possible, obviously.

"Ron?" Hermione says, jaw dropping. "But... are you sure? I mean-"

I actually flinch at that. I look at Ron, and the defiant expression on his face tells me that this probably won't end well.

"It's my name on the letter," Ron says.

"I..." Hermione trails off, red in the face and clearly at a loss for words. "I... well... wow! Well done, Ron, that's really-"

"Unexpected?" George suggests.

"No!" Hermione says quickly, turning redder than before, "no, it's not... Ron's done loads of... he's really..."

Deciding to at least attempt to salvage the situation, I walk over to Ron, taking the prefect badge and examining it.

"What checking to see if it's authentic, are you?" Ron says irritably.

I look up at him, vaguely surprised by the comment.

"No, but if I had been, you would've passed the test," I shrug. "Congratulations, in any case." I hold the badge up to his chest, seeing how it looks on him. "It clashes with your hair a bit, but it'll do."

"Thanks, Hazel," he says sarcastically, snatching the badge from me.

"No need to thank me. Just don't put me in detention, and we'll be good," I tell him with a wink.

Fred and George look about ready to scoff at the idea of Ron putting anyone in detention, but Mrs. Weasley backs into the room before they can, carrying a basket of freshly laundered robes.

"Ginny said the book lists had finally come," Mrs. Weasley nods, eyeing all the envelopes in the room as she made her way to the bed and started sorting the robes into two piles. "If you give them to me I'll take them over to Diagon Alley and get your books while you're packing. Ron, I'll have to get you more pyjamas, the ones you've got are at least six inches too short. I can't believe how fast you're growing... anyway, what colour would you like?"

"Get him red and gold to badge his badge," suggests George, snickering.

"To match his what?" asks Mrs. Weasley absent-mindedly as she rolls up a pair of maroon socks and puts it on Ron's pile.

"His badge," Fred repeats, looking as though he wants to get the worst over quickly. "His lovely shiny new prefect's badge."

It takes a moment for Fred's words to register in Mrs. Weasley pyjama-occupied mind.

"His... but... Ron, you're not?"

Ron holds up his badge, causing Mrs. Weasley to let out a shriek much like Hermione's. I wonder what people outside the room think about what's going on in here.

"I don't believe it! I don't believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!"

"What are Fred and I, next-door neighbours?" George says indignantly, as his mother pushes past him to throw her arms around Ron.

Feeling rather awkward, I move over closer to Fred and George.

"Wait until your father hears! Ron, I'm so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy like Percy or Bill, it's the first step! Oh, what a thing to happen in the middle of all this worry. I'm just thrilled, oh, Ronnie-"

Fred and George make loud retching noises behind them, but Mrs. Weasley doesn't notice at all. Her arms are tight around his neck, and she's kissing him all over his face, which is now redder than his badge. I suspect he can hear Fred and George.

"Come on, guys, drop it. He's embarrassed enough as it is," I say quietly, but they ignore me, clearly not feeling as bad for Ron as I do.

"Mum... don't... Mum, get a grip," Ron mutters, trying to push his mother off of him.

She lets go of him and breathlessly says, "What will it be, then? We gave Percy an owl, but you're already got one, of course."

"W-what do you mean?" Ron asks, barely able to believe what he's hearing.

"You've got to have a reward for this!" Mrs. Weasley explain fondly. "How about a nice new set of dress robes?"

"We've already bought him some," Fred interjects, looking regretful that he had done this.

I give the two of them suspicious looks. Where did they get money to buy Ron dress robes?

"Or a new cauldron, Charlie's old one is rusting through, or a new rat, you always liked Scabbers," Mrs. Weasley continues.

"Mum," says Ron hopefully, "can I get a new broom?"

Mrs. Weasley's face falls; broomsticks are expensive.

"Not a really good one!" Ron hesitates to add. "Just - just a new one for a change..."

Mrs. Weasley hesitates, then smiles.

"Of course you can... well, I've better get going if I've got a broom to buy now, too. I'll see you later... little Ronnie, a prefect! And don't forget to pack your trunks... a prefect... oh, I'm all of a dither!"

She gives Ron yet another kiss on the cheek, before bustling out of the room.

Fred and George exchange looks.

"You don't mind if we don't kiss you, do you, Ron?" Fred asks in a mock-anxious voice.

"We could curtsey, if you like," George adds.

"Oh, shut up," says Ron, scowling at them.

"Or what? Gonna put us in detention, are you?" Fred says tauntingly.

"I'd love to see him try," George snickers.

"He could if you don't watch out!" Hermione says angrily.

Fred and George burst out laughing, and Ron mutters, "Drop it, Hermione."

"We're going to have to watch our step, George," Fred says, pretending to tremble, "with these two on our case..."

"Yeah, it looks like our lawbreaking days are over," George shakes his head.

And with another loud crack, they Disapparate out of the room. I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair and looking up at the ceiling, through which the twins roaring with laughter can be heard from the room upstairs.

"Those two..." I mutter. I make a mental note to talk to them later.

"Don't pay attention to them, Ron, they're only jealous!" Hermione says, looking up at the ceiling angrily.

I think it's very unlikely that Fred and George would be jealous of Ron's prefect status, but decide to keep that thought to himself, since it's probably not what Ron needs to hear right now. But he seems to agree with me.

"I don't think they are," Ron says doubtfully, also looking up at the ceiling. "They've always said only prats become prefects... still," he adds, his tone happier than before, "they've never gotten new brooms! I wish I could go with Mum and choose... she'll never be able to afford a Nimbus, but there's a new Cleansweep out, that'd be great... yeah, I think I'll go tell her I like the Cleansweep, just so she knows..."

He dashes out of the room. I turn to Hermione, rubbing my hands together.

"Congratulations, by the way. I don't think I got to tell you in your rush to - well, you know," I say, and her awkward look tells me she knows. "Yeah, anyway, congrats."

"Thank you," she smiles at me.

"Yeah, well done," Harry adds, in a hearty voice that seems out of characters. I also note that he isn't looking at Hermione. "Brilliant. Prefect. Well done."

It suddenly occurs to me that Harry might be jealous.

"Thanks," Hermione says nervously. "Erm - could I - could I-" but Harry still isn't looking at her, so she changes course to looking at me -"Hazel, could I borrow Midnight? Just so I can tell my mum and dad? They'll be really pleased - I mean, prefect is something they can actually understand."

"Yeah, sure, go ahead," I nod at her, smiling.

Harry turns his back on us and bends over his trunk, rummaging through it. But everything about his behaviour tells me that he's just trying to look busy.

Yeah, he's definitely jealous.

Hermione and I exchange looks. I shrug.

She mouths at me, "Talk to him?"

I mouth back, "I'll try."

She nods, and walks out the room, closing the door behind  her. A few moments pass, all of them agonizingly silent.

Finally, since I think he thinks I've left, I say, "How about that, huh? Very-"

"Unexpected," Harry says, echoing George.

"Wasn't the word I was going to use, but I suppose so," I shrug.

"Come on, don't pretend you saw it coming," Harry says.

"All right, so I didn't," I say. "But I wasn't really expecting anyone but Hermione."

"Really? No one... at all?" he asks tentatively.

"No..." I reply slowly.

And then it hits me. He thought he was going to become prefect. Pity rushes through me as I give him a sympathetic look. I decide that he probably wants to be alone, mumble something about wanting to pack early, and walk out of the room, closing the door behind me.

"So, what's up with him?" Ginny asks me the moment I walk in the room.

I look over at Hermione, who looks up from the letter she's writing to her parents. She just shrugs. I look from her, back at Ginny, and shrug.

"Nothing. Just an off day," I lie.

"Yeah, well, he's been having a lot of  _off days_ lately, and I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting tired of it. I want an explanation," Ginny says.

I just shake my head, before drifting off to my trunk, where I do not get any packing done at all.

 

***

 

Mrs. Weasley returns at six o'clock, laden with books and carrying a long, thin package that Ron takes from her with a moan of longing.

"Never mind unwrapping it now, people are arriving for dinner, I want you all downstairs," she says, but the second she's out of sight Ron rips up the package and examines every inch of his new broom, an ecstatic expression on his face.

Down in the basement, Mrs. Weasley had hung up a banner over the dinner table, which reads: "CONGRATULATIONS RON AND HERMIONE NEW PREFECTS". She looks to be in a better mood than she had all holiday.

"I thought we'd have a little party, not a sit-down dinner," Mrs. Weasley explains to Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, and I as we enter the room. "Your father and Bill are on the way, Ron. I sent them owls and they're both thrilled," she adds, beaming. Fred rolls his eyes, causing me to give him a reproachful look.

Sirius, Remus, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt are already here, and shortly afterwards Moody stumps into the room.

"Oh, Alastor, I'm glad you're here," Mrs. Weasley says brightly, as Moody shrugs off his travelling cloak. "We've been wanting to ask you for ages now - could you have a look at the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what's in there? We didn't want to open it in case it's something really bad."

"No problem, Molly..." Moody's electric blue eye swivels upwards and stares fixedly at the ceiling of the kitchen, though I know he's really seeing what's on the other side. "Drawing room," he growls, his pupil contracting. "Desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it... yeah, it's a Boggart... want me to go up and get rid of it for you, Molly?"

"No, no, I'll do it myself later on," she beams. "You have your drink. We've having a bit of a celebration, actually..." she gestures at the scarlet banner. "Fourth prefect in the family!" she says fondly, ruffling Ron's hair.

"Prefect, eh?" Moody says, his normal eye fixing on Ron and his magical eye swivelling to the side of his head, something I'll never get used to. I get the funny feeling he's looking at Harry, and I think Harry does, too, because he suddenly moves away closer to Sirius and Remus. "Well, congratulations, authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes otherwise he wouldn't have appointed you..."

Ron looks started by this point of view, but is spared the trouble of replying by the entrance of his father and eldest brother. Apparently, Mrs. Weasley is so happy that she didn't even mind that they'd brought along Mundungus with them, or that his coat was lumpy in odd places and he refused to remove it and put it with Moody's cloak.

"Well, I think a toast is in order," Mr. Weasley decides, once everyone has a drink. He raises his goblet, "To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!"

Ron and Hermione beam as everyone drinks to them, before giving them a round of applause.

"I was never a prefect myself," Tonks says brightly, as everyone moves in to help themselves to the food. Her hair is tomato red and down to her waist today. She could pass as Ginny' sister. "My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities."

"Like what?" Ginny asks, helping herself to a baked potato.

"Like the ability to behave myself," Tonks replies. Ginny and I laugh; Hermione, on the other hand, seems to not know whether to look disapproving or amused. Instead, she settles on taking a big gulp of Butterbeer and choking on it. I giggle at the action, as Ginny and I thump her on the back.

"What about you, Sirius?" Ginny asks.

Sirius, who's beside Harry, lets out his usual bark-like laugh.

"No one would've made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge."

"I think Dumbledore thought that I might have been able to exercise some control over my friends," says Remus. "I need scarcely say that I failed dismally."

I grin at that.

Ron is speaking very eagerly about his new broomstick to anyone who'll listen.

"... nought to seventy in ten seconds, not bad, is it? When you think the Comet Two Ninety is only nought to sixty and that's with a decent tailwind according to Which Broomstick?"

I stick around to listen and participate in Ron's conversation about his broomstick, until a few more people have a look at it and I realize he's starting to repeat himself. After a while, I drift off and away from the conversation.

Hermione is speaking very earnestly about house-elf rights to Remus.

"I mean, it's the same kind of nonsense as it is with werewolf segregation, isn't it? It all stems from this horrible thing wizards have where they think they're superior to other creatures..."

Mrs. Weasley and Bill are arguing, as usual, about the length of Bill's hair.

"... getting really out of hand, and you're so good-looking, it would be much better with shorter hair, don't you think?"

Deciding I didn't want to get involved in a conversation like that, I slip away further off, until I see Harry talking with Fred and George - and Mundungus. My eyes narrow at that, and I quickly go back to Ron and his conversation about brooms, so it doesn't seem too obvious that I'm watching them. At one point, Fred looks up and examines the room, and I make eye contact with him. I smile and wink at him, before turning back to Ron and pretending to be absorbed in the information that I'd already heard from him twice before. But I still watch the group from the corner of my eye.

Eventually, Mundungus gives Fred and George something I can't make out, and the twins hurry upstairs shortly after. What are they playing at, making deals with Mundungus Fletcher? And why is Harry involved? I want to go after them, but decide I'll wait to see if they come back down. I keep an eye on the door, occasionally pitching into the conversation so it looks like I'm more absorbed in the conversation than I actually am. The part of me that is occupied with the conversation, however, feels very happy for Ron, smiling at the excitement in his voice and face.

When Fred and George finally walk through the door, a feeling of relief and worry rushes through me. I mutter some feeble excuse to leave the conversation, and make my way over to them.

"Hi," I say cheerfully.

"Hey, Hazel," Fred says, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.

George pretends to throw up, before saying, "What did I say about PDA?"

"It was a little kiss on the cheek, calm down," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Yeah, just because  _you're_ not kissing anyone, doesn't mean you have to be bitter," Fred adds, grinning.

"You've got the wrong Weasley," George retorts. "Ron's the one who isn't kissing anybody."

Fred laughs at that. I, meanwhile, frown at both of them.

"Come on, leave him alone," I say, crossing my arms.

"Oh, he's got a new broom, he's fine," George says, waving away my comments.

"Just - just be a but nicer to him, all right?"

"We're plenty nice to him," Fred insists. "We bought him dress robes, didn't we? But you know we're very much against prefects. What do you expect?"

I smile at the mention of dress robes. This is exactly where I wanted the conversation to go.

"Speaking of which, where'd you get the money to buy him dress robes? They're pretty expensive, and I'd have thought you'd be saving up for the joke shop, especially after what happened with Bagman. Not that it isn't a nice gesture, but..."

"Ask no questions, and we'll tell you no lies," Fred says, winking.

"Or how about I ask you questions, and you'll tell me the truth," I suggest.

"Or how about you not ask any questions at all, end of story," George counters. "I, personally, like that idea much more, how about you, Fred?"

"I have you agree with you, George," Fred nods.

"I, unfortunately, disagree with that," I say.

"Well, you'll have to find a way to be content with the explanation that we're just good with money," George says.

"All right, but how'd you get the money that you're just so good with?" I ask.

"We have our sources," is all George says.

"Such as...?" I prompt. When they don't answer, I glance over rather obviously at Mundungus Fletcher. Fred rolls his eyes when I look back at them.

"Believe me when I say that we've gotten no money from Mundungus Fletcher."

"All right, you haven't gotten any money from him," I nod. "Have you gotten any other things from him?"

Fred curses quietly. "Knew you were watching..."

"It's none of your business, all right, Hazel?" George says.

"What's the point in hiding? I mean, you know I know you've gotten  _something_ from him. I just want to know  _what_."

"Well, unfortunately, you don't need to know  _what,_ " Fred insists.

"I know you were with Harry, too. I could just ask him," I point out.

"Have fun with that, but he won't tell you anything," George shrugs.

"Is that so?" I ask challengingly.

"Yes, that's so," George nods. "Badger him as much as you want, but you won't get any more answers than you're getting from us right now."

"We'll see about that," is all I say in reply.

"Suppose you will," Fred shrugs. "They never do learn."

"Shut up, will you?" I say, but there's no venom in my voice.

As everyone starts to grow tired and everything starts to slow down, Mr. Weasley suggests that everyone go to bed, considering those going to King's Cross tomorrow, whether to escort of because they're actually getting on the Hogwarts Express, will have to be up early.

"Besides, I expect some of you might still have some packing to do," he adds, with a knowing smile.

He has a point. I suddenly remember that I still have a fair amount of clothes to pack, plus all my books. I bid Fred and George goodnight, and along with Hermione and Ginny, go upstairs to our room.

I do get a good amount of packing done, but after a while I become too tired to even try to keep packing. I close my trunk with a defeated sigh, declare that I'll finish up whatever's left in the morning, and change into my pyjamas.

"You're going to regret this tomorrow, you know," Hermione says, who's the only one still packing, an air of determination about her.

"Yeah, probably," Ginny agrees.

"Whatever," I shrug, settling into bed.

Thoughts of Hogwarts are my last ones before I fall asleep.


	14. Luna Lovegood

**Ours**

**Chapter Fourteen: Luna Lovegood**

 

I regret my decision to finish packing in the morning the exact second I wake up. The morning is cold, and the noise of rushed and vaguely annoyed voices makes me want to do nothing but curl back up in bed. But with a lot of things to do even without the ridiculously procrastinated packing, I manage to find it in me to quite literally roll out of bed, thinking I deserved a medal for being able to do this.

I'd barely started brushing my teeth when someone started banging at the door, yelling at me to hurry up. Agitated and recognizing the voice, I roll my eyes and speed up the processing of brushing my teeth as much as I can. It's when they knock for a second time that I decide it's time for confrontation.

I spit out the toothpaste in my mouth, and open the door, toothbrush still in hand, to find, not to my surprise, Fred standing there, looking at me impatiently.

I return the impatient look, hoping it doesn't show that I'm suddenly very aware that I'm not exactly looking my best. I do my best to shake the feeling of insecurity. It's not like he hasn't seen me like this before.

 _He was your best friend first, Hazel,_ I remind myself.

"Do you mind?" I say, eyebrows raised.

"Exactly what I was just about to ask you," he replies. "We haven't got all day, you know. Train leaves at eleven and half of us aren't even awake. And I still haven't finished packing," he adds sheepishly.

"That makes two of us," I grin. "You finish packing, then I'll be out by the time you're done." He nods and walks away, and I resume with brushing my teeth and the rest of my bathroom routine.

I hurry out of he bathroom and into my bedroom to finish with packing. By the time I'm finished packing, I look up at the clock. Eight fifty. Shit. And I'm not even dressed yet.

Picking up the pace, I dress in the first things I see, brush my hair as quickly as humanly possible, do a quick check to make sure everything is in order, and nod in approval when I find that it s. I grab my trunk in one hand, Midnight's cage in the other, and make my way out of the room and down the hall.

The next little bit a blur of panicking and running around and shoving food into mouths and Fred and George "speeding up the process" by levitating their luggage and ending up hitting Ginny, sending her flying down the stairs.

Regardless, we make it to King's Cross in good time, arriving in groups.

"Well, look after yourselves," Lupin says, shaking hands all around.

When he arrives at me, he pulls me just a little ways off from the rest, resting his hands on my shoulders.

"Maybe I ought to have said this back at the house, but I think this year is going to be a little bit different than it has been before for you, with Voldemort back and the Ministry - well, you know," he says. "You're going to need to stay strong, and  _keep in line._ No matter what happens, do you promise me?"

Incoherent mumbling is my reply.

"What was that?" he says.

"Yeah, fine, I'll stay out of trouble," I say, looking around awkwardly.

"No, you won't," he sighs, rubbing his face blearily with one hand before returning it to my shoulder. "Just - just don't go over the top, all right?"

"Do I ever?" I ask.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" replies Remus. Good point." And - some people are going to need you now more than ever," his eyes flick over to a place over my head, and I don't need to look to know it's Harry. "You need to know who your friends are and stick with them, and they'll need you.

"And just because of certain events, doesn't mean I don't want you doing well, okay? Your OWLs are this year, and I expect good things from you."

"Oh, come on, Remus," I moan.

"Don't give me that," he says sternly. "I was a teacher, if only for a while, plus I'm your godfather, you can't expect me to not say anything."

"All right, fine, I'll study hard, do well, all of that," I nod.

"Good," he says, smiling softly, and with that we walk back to the rest of the group.

A warning whistle sounds; those still on the platform start to hurry onto the train.

"Quick, quick," says Mrs. Weasley, hugging people at random. "Write... be good... if you've forgotten anything, we'll send it to you... on to the train now, hurry..."

Before I get onto the train, I turn back and hug Remus. He hugs me back, rubbing my back gently for a moment, before kissing the top of my head and letting me go.

"Go on, off you go, then," he says with a smile, which I translate to be a very meaningful goodbye.

I smile back at him, before waving at everyone else, petting Sirius to an unnecessary extent to annoy him, and hop onto the train. We wave out the open window as the figures of Tonks, Remus, Moody, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shrink rapidly, but the black dog that is Sirius bounds along, following the train. People on the platform giggle and point at him, but he keeps going until the train rounds the bend.

"He shouldn't have come," Hermione says worriedly.

"Oh, lighten up," Ron says. "He hasn't seen daylight in months, poor bloke."

"Well," Fred says, clapping his hands together, "can't stand around chatting all day. We've got some business to discuss with Lee. See you later." He gives me a wink that implies that later might be very very soon, before disappearing along with George.

The train is gathering still more speed, so that the houses outside the windows flash past us, and we sway as we stand. We're going to need to find a seat soon. Harry seems to have the same kind of thought as me.

"Shall we go and find a compartment, then?" he asks.

Ron and Hermione exchange looks.

"Er-" Ron says nervously.

 _This can't be good,_ I think.

"We're - well - Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage," Hermione explains awkwardly.

I glance quickly at Harry, who seems to be trying to look unconcerned about the situation. Ron, unlike me, refuses to look at Harry, becoming intensely absorbed in the fingernails on his left hand.

"Oh," is all Harry says. "Right, fine."

"I don't think we have to stay there all journey," Hermione adds quickly. "Our letters just say that we need to get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then just patrol the corridors from time to time."

"Fine," Harry repeats. "Well - I guess we'll see you later, maybe."

"Yeah - yeah definitely," Ron says, casting Harry an anxious, shifty glance. "It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather - but we have to - I mean, I'm not enjoying it. I'm not Percy," he finished defiantly.

"No, you're not," Harry agrees, grinning.

But when Hermione and Ron drag their trunks, Crookshanks, and a caged Pigwidgeon down the corridor, I feel an odd sense of loss that I can tell Harry feels from exchanging quick glances with him. This is the first time we've ever travelled on the Hogwarts Express without Ron.

"Come on," Ginny speaks up. "If we get a move on we'll be able to save them seats."

"Right," Harry says, and I nod.

We pick up our stuff and struggle down the corridor, peering into the glass windows of compartments, which were mostly, if not completely, full. I notice very quickly that several people are blatantly staring and occasionally nudging and pointing at Harry when he passes. This isn't exactly new, what with him being The Famous Harry Potter, but the expression on their faces are different. I remember the  _Daily Prophet_ , and with a sense of dread, wonder if they believe the lies being made about him.

At the very last carriage, we come across Neville Longbottom, his face shining with the effort of pulling his trunk along and keeping a firm grip on his perpetually struggling toad, Trevor.

"Hi, Harry," he pants. "Hey, Hazel... hi, Ginny... everywhere's full... I can't find a seat..."

"What are you talking about?" asks Ginny, who'd squeezed past Neville to peer into the compartment behind him. "There's plenty of room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here-"

Neville mumbles something about not wanting to disturb anyone. I give Harry a mystified look, and the one he returns makes me pleased to see that I'm not the only one who's completely lost.

"Don't be silly," Ginny laughs, "she's all right, come on-"

She slides the door open and pulls her trunk inside. Harry, Neville, and I follow.

"Hi, Luna," Ginny greets. "Is it okay if we take these seats?"

The girl beside the window looks up. She has straggly, waist-length, dirty blonde hair, along with very pale eyebrows and eyes that give her a permanently surprised look. The aura of distinct absurdity immediately explains why Neville wasn't too keen to share a compartment with her. Maybe it's the fact that, for safekeeping, she'd decided to put her wand behind her left ear, or that her necklace is made out of Butterbeer corks, or that the magazine she had been so absorbed in was being read upside down. Her eyes roam over Neville, ranging over to me, and landing to rest on Harry. She nods.

"Thanks," Ginny says, smiling at her and sitting down. Harry and Neville stow the trunks and Hedwig and Midnight's cages onto the luggage rack and sit down.

Luna watches us over her upside-down magazine, called  _The Quibbler_. Apparently, she doesn't feel the need to blink as much as most people, for she simply stares and stares at Harry, who has sat down across from her and seems to be regretting this decision.

"Had a good summer, Luna?" Ginny asks.

"Yes," Luna replies dreamily, still not looking away from Harry. "Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. You're Harry Potter," she adds to Harry.

"I know I am," Harry says.

Neville and I try to mask our laughter. Her eyes land on us next.

"I don't know who you two are," she comments.

"Erm, Hazel Knight," I say, nodding, vaguely uncomfortable by the weight of her stare.

"I'm nobody," Neville adds in hurriedly.

"No, you're not," Ginny says sharply. "Neville Longbottom - Luna Lovegood. Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw."

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," Luna says in a singsong voice.

She raises her magazine enough to hide her face, and falls silent. Harry, Neville, and I exchange looks, eyebrows raised. Ginny suppresses a giggle at our faces. The train rattles onwards, speeding us into the open country. It seems, by the looks of the sunny sky that appears one moment only to be masked by ominous clouds the next, that it's an odd, unsettled sort of day.

"Guess what I got for my birthday," Neville says suddenly.

"Another Remembrall?" Harry guesses.

"No," Neville shakes his head. "I could use one, though, lost the old one ages ago... no, look at this..."

He uses the hand that's not keeping a firm grip on Trevor to dig into his school bag, until he finally pulls out what looks to be a small, grey cactus in a pot, except instead of spines, it has boils.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," he announces proudly.

I stare at the thing, which is giving off the impression of some diseased internal organ.

"It's really, really rare," Neville says. "I don't even think they've got one in the Hogwarts greenhouses, even. I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout. My Great Uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. I'm going to see if I can breed from it."

I was aware that Herbology was Neville's best and favourite subject, and I'm glad he's so excited, but for the life of me I can't see what Neville could possibly want or like from this pulsating plant.

"Does - erm - does it do anything?" I ask.

"Yeah, loads of stuff!" Neville answers excitedly. "It's got an incredible defence mechanism. Here, hold Trevor for me..."

He dumps the toad onto my lap, who immediately tries to escape. However, probably due to all the years as a Chaser, I manage to grab onto it and get a firm hold of the still struggling toad. Luna Lovegood's popping eyes appear over the magazine again, clearly interested in Neville's plant. He holds it up to his eyes, his tongue between his teeth, chooses his spit, and gives the plant a sharp poke with the end of his quill.

Liquid squirts from every boil of the plant. Thick, stinking, dark green jets of it. It hits the ceiling, the windows, and splatters Luna's magazine. Ginny and Harry manage to fling their arms up to protect their faces from the worst. I, however, had been too busy trying to prevent Trevor from escaping that I get a faceful. It smells like rancid manure. Neville, who gets the worst of us all, his face and torso drenches, shakes his head to get it out of his eyes.

"S-sorry," he gasps. "I haven't tried that before, I didn't realize it'd be quite so... don't worry, though, Stinksap's not poisonous," he adds nervously, as I spit a mouthful of it onto the floor.

"Yeah, well, either way I'm not too keen on swallowing any of it," I say, wiping my mouth and feeling very much like throwing up.

At that moment, the compartment door slides open.

"Oh... hello, Harry," a small, nervous voice says. "Um, bad time?" I look up at the pretty girl with long, shiny black hair, standing at the doorway and smiling nervously at Harry. Cho Chang, Seeker on the Ravenclaw team and Harry's crush for quite some time is standing at the doorway, and I feel a stab of pity for him. And I thought my moments with Fred were embarrassing...

"Oh... hi," Harry says blankly, and with every passing second I feel more and more like cringing.

"Um..." Cho says awkwardly. "Well... just thought I'd say hi... bye then."

Pink in the face, she turns and leaves the compartment, closing the door behind her. Harry leans back in his seat and groans, and I give him a sympathetic look, feeling more than a little embarrassed for him.

"Never mind," Ginny says bracingly. "Look, we can easily get rid of all of this," she gestures around the compartment, before pulling out her wand. " _Scourgify_!"

The Stinksap vanishes, as though it never existed.

 _That spell is just a moment too late,_ I think, but decide against saying it out loud.

"Sorry," Neville repeats in a small voice.

Ron and Hermione don't return for another hour, by which point the food trolley had already come and gone. Harry, Ginny, Neville and I were already finished the pumpkin pasties and are swapping Chocolate Frog Cards when they walk in, accompanies by Crookshanks and a madly twittering Pigwidgeon in his cage.

"I'm starving," Ron announces, shoving Pigwidgeon's cage beside Midnight's, grabbing a Chocolate Frog from Harry and throwing himself into the seat beside him. He rips open the wrapper, bites the head off, and leans his head back, looking like someone who'd had an extremely exhausting morning.

"Well, there are two fifth-yeah prefects from each house," Hermione announces, looking thoroughly disgruntled as she sits down beside Ginny. "Boy and girl from each."

"And guess who's a Slytherin prefect," Ron says, eyes still closes.

"Malfoy," Harry replies at once.

"Of course," I say bitterly when Ron nods, finishing the rest of his Chocolate Frog and grabbing another one.

"And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson," Hermione adds viciously. "How she got to be a prefect when she's thicker than a concussed troll..."

"You've got to be joking," I groan.

"Who's Hufflepuff?" Harry asks.

"Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott," Ron answers thickly.

"And Jace and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw," Hermione adds, and I perk up slightly at the mention of Jace.

"You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil," says a vague voice.

Everyone turns to look at Luna Lovegood, who's gazing solely and unblinkingly at Ron. He swallows a mouthful of Chocolate Frog.

"Yeah, I know I did," Ron says, looking mildly surprised.

"She didn't enjoy it very much," Luna informs him. "She doesn't think you treated her very well, because you wouldn't dance with her. I don't think I'd have minded," she adds thoughtfully. "I don't like dancing very much." She retreats back to the depths of her magazine. Ron gapes at the cover for a few seconds, before looking around at Ginny for some explanation, but she has her fist in her mouth in order to keep herself from laughing. Ron shakes his head, bemused, before checking his watch.

"We're supposed to patrol the corridors every now and then," he explains, "and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something."

"You're not supposed to abuse your position, Ron!" Hermione says sharply.

"Yeah, because Malfoy isn't going to do that at all," Ron says sarcastically.

"So you're just going to stoop to his level?"

"No, I'm just going to make sure I get to his mates before he gets to mine," he retorts, and, in spite of myself, I find myself grinning at him.

"For heaven's sake, Ron-"

"I'll make Goyle do lines, it'll kill him, he hates writing," Ron says happily. He lowers his voice to Goyle's low grunt, and, screwing up his face to look to be one of pained concentration, mimicked writing in midair. "I... must... not... look... like... a... baboon's... backside."

Everyone laughs at his comment, but nobody laughs nearly as hard as Luna Lovegood. She lets out a scream of laughter that wakes Hedwig and causes her to let out an indignant hoot, and Crookshanks to leap up into the luggage rack, hissing. Luna laughs so hard that the magazine slips out of her grasp, slides down her legs and hits the floor.

"That was funny!"

Tears of laughter are starting to form in her eyes as she gasps for breath, gazing at Ron. Completely and utterly lost, Ron looks around at the rest of us, who are now just laughing at his bewildered face and the stretched out laughter of Luna Lovegood, who's not clutching her sides, rocking back and forth.

"Are you taking the mickey?" Ron asks, frowning.

"Baboon's... backside..." she chokes, holding her ribs.

After she calms down, she simply returns to her magazine as though nothing had happened. We stare at her for a moment, completely mystified, before exchanging glances and returning to normal conversation. Ron, it seems, is just a bit quieter than before.

 _Maybe he's trying not to be funny,_ I think, and resist the urge to laugh.

Eventually, I get up out of my seat, announcing that I need to go to the loo, and walk out of the compartment, shutting the door behind me.

 

***Third Person, but Through Fred's Eyes***

 

It had been hours of talking about business for the joke shop with George and Lee, and at one point they'd manage to get off topic and start up normal conversation. The type seventeen year-olds usually had. People had come and gone, talking and messing around for a while, before drifting back away into whatever compartment they were in before.

The train ride was a peaceful one for Fred when Adam Bowman walked into their compartment.

That was fine with Fred.

Adam Bowman was a boy in Ravenclaw who Fred knew more by sight than anything, due to the fact that he had been in a fair few of his classes over the years.

He greets the three of them, asks if it's okay for him to sit, and once getting a yes from all three of them, settles into a seat across from Fred.

That was fine with Fred.

"How've you been, boys? How was your summers?"

Fred, George, and Lee all murmured something about good summers.

"How about you?" Fred asked.

"It was pretty good," Adam replied. "Kinda boring, but-" he shrugs. "Now, see, the reason I was so keen to talk to you lot at this very moment - not that you're not brilliant, or anything-"

"I'm not sure if I believe that," Lee cut in, grinning. "You're using us, and I'm offended."

They laughed at that, before Adam continued. "It's just, I've seen the hottest girl, and I know you know her, so I was wondering if you guys could kinda be my wing men? Just kinda get me on her good side, nothing extreme, you know?"

That was fine with Fred.

"Yeah, sure, just as long as it's not our sister," George said. "Then we'll have to kill you. Don't take it personally, though."

Adam laughed. "No, you've got nothing to worry about."

That was fine with Fred. In fact, that was very fine with Fred.

"It's your friend, Hazel Knight."

That was not fine with Fred.

"I never really took much notice of her before - I mean, she's really cool - but, I mean,  _damn_. This summer was kind to her. She's so hot."

That was definitely not fine with Fred.

He went very quiet, and looked away at the window, not wanting to look at him. At Adam, who by all means, was someone that girls would find much more attractive than they would Fred, with his bright blue eyes and blonde hair and tanned skin.

Adam apparently noticed the change in Fred's behaviour. He could practically feel the cocky smile on his face.

"Come on, I know you guys are close, but you don't have to go all protective big brother on me, Fred."

He cringed at the use of the term brother. Not the term he exactly wanted someone to use to describe his relationship with his  _girlfriend._

"What's up?"

Adam asked after Fred doesn't reply, completely nonplussed. It's then that Fred decides to speak, his voice louder than he'd intended.

"Hazel Knight," he says, "is my girlfriend."

 

***First Person in Hazel's Perspective***

 

Walking from the loo back to the compartment, I find it impossible to drive Fred from my mind. But it's not Fred alone that's occupying my mind so much. It's the thought of Fred with other people. Particularly other girls.

I'd never given too much thought of Fred being with other girls, except for when Fred had flirted briefly with that Ravenclaw during my third year, and the occasional thought that'd cross my mind, but I'd drive it out just as quickly. It had been hard enough thinking he didn't like me, but the thought of him liking and being with someone else was torture, so I just never allowed myself to think of him being with anyone else but me.

But on my way to the washroom, several people had been in his compartment, a considerable amount of them being girls. They weren't fawning over Fred, really, but one of them looked at him in a way I wasn't very happy to see.

"I thought they were talking about business," I muttered bitterly to myself, tearing my eyes away from the window, rather disappointed nobody noticed me and invited me in. They were having too much fun, clearly. "I'd love to see what kind of fucking  _business_ they were talking about in there."

When I approach their compartment, I decide to walk straight past. Don't even look at the window. This resolve breaks when I hear his voice.

"Hazel Knight is my girlfriend," Fred's voice. Tense, jealous, angry. Not good.

Immediately, I stop and look through the window, hoping now that I won't be noticed. At least, not until I want to be.

"Oh, shit," a voice says. It comes from a boy around seventeen, with blonde hair and blue eyes. "Fuck, shit, I'm sorry. I'm really - I'm sorry, mate, I had no idea, I wouldn't have even - I didn't - I'd never have-"

"Never have what? Told me about just how hot you think she was? Kept it to yourself, and-"

Yeah, he's definitely jealous, and quite angry. Even though I feel worried, a feeling of joy that I hate myself for spreads through me. Sure, there are prettier and better girls that'd be glad to have him, but he'd still rather have me, and it's showing very clearly right now.

Regardless, I decide to step in, sliding the compartment door open and walking inside.

"Am I missing something?" I say as a greeting, grinning slightly. "Only, I believe I heard my name..."

Fred, George, Lee and the mysterious blonde boy all gape up at me, each of their expressions funnier than the last, no matter what order you look at them in.

"I don't believe we've met," I say to the blonde boy, amused by the whole situations. "I'm Hazel Knight, and you are?"

The boy doesn't want to play along. Understandably.

"Did you - did you hear that? Shit, I'm really sorry, I didn't know - I had  _no_ idea - otherwise, I wouldn't have-" he stands up, meaning to continue, but I cut him off, Fred tenses, looking ready to spring up himself, but I give him a look.

"I just asked for your name, you know," I say.

"Adam Bowman," he says quickly.

"Great meeting you, but I expect you might want to go," I suggest, giving him a look. "Might want to wait and let things blow over," I lower my voice. "I'll soften him up."

"Right, okay," he says quickly. "Sorry, I'm really sorry."

With that, he exits.

"Fucking prat," Fred says.

"He didn't know," I say fairly.

"He's still a prat," is all Fred says, looking rather surly. I plop down next to him, moving closer to his body and smiling at him.

"Come on, relax, it's not like he was competition, or anything," I point out. "I never even knew the guy until today."

He doesn't reply. My shoulders sag at this. I sigh deeply, before standing up, and tugging at his arm, indicating for him to get up. He just looks up at me expectantly.

"Come on, you idiot, get up," I say softly, grinning.

He gets up.

"There we go," I say approvingly, before taking his hand and leading him out the compartment.

"We'll be back in a moment!" I call to George and Lee.

The sound of George and Lee pretending to throw up is the last thing I hear before I slide the compartment door closed.

I drag him along the corridor until I find an empty compartment. Satisfied, I lead him into it and close the door behind me, before turning around to face him.

"Come on," I say desperately. "You've  _got_ to know that I'm not about to ditch you for some guy I've just met. Harry's one thing, but this? Really, Fred?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "He's just - I don't know - he's just the type that - he's the type that girls would-"

"Well, not me," I cut him off. "So get that out of your head."

"Right, right," he runs his hand through his hair. "Out of my head, got it. Quick question, though."

"Fire away,"

"How do you  _never_ get jealous?"

"Well," I say awkwardly, thinking of the burning jealously and bitterness I'd experience not too long ago, "I mean, never say never."

"When have you ever gotten jealous?" he asks.

"What if I told you I did today?" I ask, smiling sheepishly. He raises his eyebrows, prompting me to continue. "I dunno... I was walking past your compartment and I saw you with a bunch of people... a bunch of girls... and you weren't doing anything, I'm not sure you even noticed it, but the way one of them looked at you..."

"You're kissing," he says, completely shocked by my confession. "You -  _you_ \- jealous of - of  _them_?"

"Stop teasing me, Fred, we both know it's not that hard to believe," I say, brow furrowed.

"I'm not," he says seriously. "Seriously, how could  _you_ be jealous of  _them_?"

"Welcome to my world," I say, smiling sheepishly, referring to the amount of times Fred had gotten jealous of the most unbelievable people. He grins sheepishly at that. "I don't know, it's just like, I see you with them, and you could be with girls who are prettier, older, funnier, nicer, just -  _better_ than I am, and so I look at myself and go, well why are you even with me, then?"

He puts his hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes earnestly.

"You," he begins, "are the prettiest, funniest, best girl in the world. I don't care if you're younger - as if two years is such a big bloody difference, anyway - I like  _you_. And I'd pick you over any of them any day."

"You've certainly got a way with words, haven't you, Weasley?" I say.

"Only when they're for you," he replies, moving in closer to me.

"Oh, God, you're ridiculous," I groan, before closing the space between us and kissing him.

He runs his hands up and down my body, and he looks disappointed when I pull away from him.

"In any case, I don't think any of them could kiss quite like you do," he says, grinning, before pulling me back in for another kiss.

I decide that no boy would be able to kiss quite like Fred could, either.

He pushes me against the wall of the compartment, kissing me with an enthusiasm that still never fails to surprise me. His hands are tangled in my hair and he only pulls away to whisper breathless compliments.

"We - need - to - go - back," I insist between kisses.

"Why?" he asks me, pulling away.

"Well, they'll think we're shagging," I point out.

"Let them think what they want," Fred shrugs, pulling me closer to him.

"I don't think you really mean that," I grin. I kiss him quickly, before pulling away, grabbing his hand once more. "Come on," I drag him back to the compartment, where Lee and George are still waiting.

"Well, you certainly took your time," George says pointedly when we walk in.

He and Lee look at us, and I realize we look just a bit too - well, messy. I just shrug. What's done is done. Fred sits down, and I sit next to him, adjusting myself so that my back is against the wall and my legs are stretched across his lap.

"So, are any of you going to tell me when this happened?" Lee gestures to the two of us. "Or when you planned on filling me in?"

I raise an eyebrow, saying, "I assumed that you'd been caught up. Clearly, you haven't."

"Hey, I was going to tell you," Fred speaks up. "It's just... never came out..."

"Right," Lee rolls his eyes.

"It happened during the summer, and now here we are," Fred gestures around the compartment.

"Oh, how romantic," I say teasingly, leaning my head back against the wall and closing my eyes, smiling.

"Hey, if I remember correctly, you said I had a way with words," he points out.

"Clearly, that's gone away," I shrug, and George and Lee chuckle at my retort.

We start talking and joking around, and I find myself appreciating that the easy banter between the four of us still doesn't go away, in spite of what's happened. I check my watch after a while, and start.

I stand up, announcing, "I'd better go, considering that I said I was going to the loo about an hour ago. I don't even want to know what they probably think went on... I'll see you all later!"

I head out of the compartment with a final wave, and hurry down to my compartment. When I get to my compartment, I find that new visitors have arrived. I narrow my eyes upon realizing who it is.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

I barge into the compartment, turning around in a full circle, pretending to be sniffling around, until I pretend to be surprised at the sight of them.

"Oh, it's you lot! I thought I smelled pricks!" I say pleasantly. "This makes so much more sense now!"

"Manners, Knight, or I'll have to put you in detention," Malfoy drawls.

I laugh at that comment, hopefully appearing completely amused and unconcerned about the idea of Malfoy putting me into detention, even though I know it's absolutely something he'd do. I settle back into my seat next to Neville, and look up Malfoy, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, come on, we're not even at Hogwarts yet and you're already abusing your power? That must be some kind of record."

"It's not abusing power if you ask for it. You see, I, unlike you," and he's sure to give Harry a pointed look, "am a prefect. Which means I, unlike you, can give our punishments if I see fit. Which means you need to respect me."

"Yeah," Harry says, "but you see, you, unlike us, are a git, so get out and leave us alone."

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and I laugh. Malfoy's lip curls.

"Tell me, Potter, how does it feel to be second-best to Weasley?" he asks.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione says sharply.

"I seem to have touched a nerve," Malfoy smirks. "Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line."

_Dogging._

"Get out!" Hermione demands, standing up.

Sniggering, Malfoy gives Harry one more malicious look before exiting the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after him. Hermione slams the compartment door shut, before turning around and exchanging looks with Harry and I. Clearly, they'd both noticed Malfoy's choice of words and are just unnerved by it.

"Chuck me another frog," says Ron, who clearly hadn't noticed anything, or is a very talented actor.

Knowing that we cannot talk freely with Neville and Luna in the compartment, Harry, Hermione, and I just look at each other nervously, before looking away quickly.

At the time, Sirius tagging along was just a laugh, but now it was reckless, dangerous, and really - it was downright stupid. Hermione's right... he shouldn't have come...

Had Lucius Malfoy noticed the black dog and told Draco about it? What if he'd realized that the Weasleys, Remus, Tonks, and Moody knew where Sirius is hiding?

 _Maybe it was just a coincidence,_ a voice in my head says.

But I doubt it.

When darkness falls and the lamps turn on inside the carriages, Luna rolls up her copy of  _The Quibbler,_ places it carefully in her bag, and takes to staring at people in the compartment at random.

"We'd better get changed," Hermione suggests after a while, and, with great difficulty, we pull our school robes out of our trunks and pull them on. Ron and Hermione pin their prefect badges onto their chest. I notice Ron checking out how his looks on him in the mirror. I hold back a giggle at the thought of what Fred and George would do if they saw him.

At last, the train slows down, and we hear the usual racket of people getting their luggage and their pets. As Ron and Hermione are supposed to be supervising all the chaos, they disappear once more.

In spite of all that's going on, in spite of the fact that I'm tired and hungry and cold, I can't help but smile because I'm finally back at Hogwarts. Back to where I belong.


	15. The Sorting Hat's Song

**Ours**

**Chapter Fifteen: The Sorting Hat's Song**

 

We shuffle out of the compartment, feeling the first sting of the night air on our faces. Slowly, we start making our way towards the doors, and I can smell the pine trees that line the path down to the lake. As I step out and onto the platform, I wait for the sound of Hagrid calling, "Firs-years over 'ere... firs-years.."

But it doesn't come. Instead, a very different, brisk, female voice calls, "First years line up over here, please! All first years to me!"

A lantern comes swinging in our direction, and I can make out the prominent chin and severe haircut of Professor Grubbly-Plank, the witch who had taken over Care of Magical Creatures lessons for a while last year.

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry wonders aloud.

"I don't know," replies Ginny, "but we'd better get out of the way, we're blocking the door."

"Oh, yeah..." Harry says. Ginny becomes separated from Harry and I as we move along the platform and out through the station. Jostled by the crowd, we try to find some sign of Hagrid. He had to be here. I'm relying on it - seeing Hagrid again is one of the things I'm most excited for. But there's no sign of him, and I give up. If Hagrid was here, I would've spotted him. He's not hard to find, even in darkness.

 _He can't have just left,_ I think, trying to reassure myself, as we shuffle slowly through a narrow doorway onto the road outside with the rest of the crowd.  _He's probably just sick, or something._

Trying to drive my worries out of my mind, I allow myself to be shunted onto the dark rain-washed road outside of Hogsmeade station, where the hundred or so carriages stand, pulled by horselike creatures, with skeletal bodies, dragon-like faces, and white, glittering eyes that lack pupils or expression.

I look at them, shuddering; they had always freaked me out. Try as I might, I had never found out what there were. Weirdly enough, they couldn't be found under the 'Weird Lizard-Horse Creatures' section of the library. I tear my eyes away from the creatures, before looking around for Ron and Hermione. Finally, I see Ron approaching and wave him over, eager to tell them about Hagrid's disappearance.

"Where's Pig?" Ron asks.

"That Luna girl's carrying him," Harry replies, turning around quickly. "Where do you reckon-?"

"-Hagrid is? I dunno," Ron shrugs, sounding worried. "He'd better be okay, though."

A short distance away, Draco Malfoy, along with a small gang of cronies, which includes Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, pushes some timid-looking second-years away so that they can get a carriage to themselves. Seconds later, Hermione emerges from the crowd, panting and angry.

"Malfoy was being absolutely foul to some second-years back there. I swear I'm going to report him, he's only had his badge for three minutes and he's using it to bully people worse than ever... where's Crookshanks?"

"Ginny's got him," I reply. "There she is..."

Gunny emerges from the crowd, clutching a squirming Crookshanks in her arms.

"Thanks," Hermione says, relieving Ginny of the cat. "C'mon, let's get a carriage together before they all fill up."

"I haven't got Pig yet!" Ron protests, but Hermione's already heading off to the nearest unoccupied coach.

Noticing that Hermione is struggling with all that she's carrying, I drop my own trunk, quickly mutter that I'll be right back, and hurry over to her.

"Here, I've got it," I say, holding my arms out to take Crookshanks.

Hermione gives me a grateful look as she hands me the cat. I scratch Crookshanks' ears idly as I follow Hermione to one of the carriages, so that he relaxes more. He lets out a purr, and I smile in satisfaction; there's something extremely awarding in knowing that animals don't hate you.

Once we reach a carriage, I place Crookshanks in it carefully.

"Thank you, Hazel," Hermione says, looking grateful.

"Don't worry about it," I shrug. "I'm going back to get my stuff, I'll be back in a minute."

She and Ginny nod, and I turn and hurry back to where Harry and Ron still are, now joined by Luna Lovegood and Pigwidgeon. Harry and Ron seem to be deep in conversation; Harry looks bothered, and Ron looks confused.

Once I reach them, I can hear Harry saying, slightly upset, "Can't... can't you see them?"

"See what?" I ask, stopping in front of them.

"Can't you see what's pulling the carriages?" Harry says.

Ron is now looking more concerned than ever. I, however, could sing.

"You can see them, too?" I ask, hardly daring to believe it.

"So you see it, then?" Harry asks, looking about half as relieved as I feel.

"Yes, yes, I do!" I say, now smiling broadly. "I always have... I asked Hermione about it ages ago, because I didn't have a clue what they were - still don't, mind you, but still - and she said she couldn't see them... after that, I didn't bring it up any more, because... well, because I thought I was mad. But if you can see them, too... you can't see them, can you?" I add to Ron, slightly discouraged by this, but remind myself that at least Harry can, as well.

Ron is now looking beyond alarmed.

"Are - are you two okay?"

Harry and I exchange glances. Though we're relieved that we're not the only ones who can see these creatures, it's worrying that we seem to be the only two.

"I... yeah... yeah," Harry says finally.

"Yeah, fine," I say, forcing a smile.

"Shall we get in, then?" Ron suggests, looking at us worriedly.

"Yeah," Harry nods. "Yeah, go on..."

Ron gives us another nervous look, before leading the way to the carriage, and climbing into the coach. I watch him as he goes, just a bit ahead of us, feeling disappointed and discouraged but not altogether surprised. I mean, it had been the same thing with Hermione.

"It's okay," Luna Lovegood's dreamy voice says from beside us. "You're not going mad or anything, I can see them, too."

"Can you?" Harry asks desperately, turning to face her.

As I do the same, I can see the horses, whatever they are, reflected in her eyes.

"Oh, yes," she nods. "I've been able to see them since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry, you're just as sane as I am."

Smiling faintly, she climbs into the musty interior of the carriage after Ron. Harry and I glance at each other again, and I can tell he's just as unsure of whether to be assured or not by Luna's words as I am. I just shrug, somewhat used to the feeling that I might be going mad after all these years, and climb into the carriage as well. After a moment, Harry follows me. Unable to stop myself from looking at them after finding out that I'm not hallucinating in seeing them, I stare at the silhouettes of the horses moving beyond the window.

"Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?" Ginny asks, making me look around at her instead. "What's she doing back here? Hagrid can't have left, can he?"

"I'll be quite glad if he has," Luna says, "he's not a very good teacher, is he?"

"Yes, he is!" Harry, Ron, Ginny and I say angrily.

Harry glares at Hermione, who clears her throat and quickly says, "Erm... yes... he's very good."

"Well, we in Ravenclaw think he's a bit of a joke," Luna shrugs, unfazed.

"You've got a rubbish sense of humour, then," Ron snaps, as the wheels below us creak into motion.

Luna doesn't seem too bothered by Ron's rudeness; on the contrary, she simply watches him like he's a mildly interesting television program that she'd just stumbled upon.

Rattling and swaying, the carriages move up the road. When we pass between tall stone pillars with winged boards on either side of the gates to the school grounds, I try to see if there are any lights on in Hagrid's cabin by the Forbidden Forest, but the grounds are in complete darkness. Hogwarts Castle, however, looms closer than ever: a mass of towering turrets, here and there a window blazing fiery bright above us.

The carriages jingle to a halt in front of the stone steps leading up to the oak front doors, and I hope off after Harry and look around for Hagrid's cabin. When I find it, I let out a sigh. There's definitely no sign of life in there. Tearing my eyes away from the cabin, I give the thestrals one last glance, before joining the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle.

The Entrance Hall is ablaze with torches and echoing footsteps as students cross the flagged stone floor to the double doors on the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast.

The four long house tables in the Great Hall are filling up under the starless black ceiling, which looks just like the sky that can be glimpsed through the high windows. Candles float in mid-air along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who are dotted around the hall and the faces of students talking eagerly to friends. Again, I notice people staring at Harry as he passes, and I feel a stab of annoyance. Can't they at least try to be subtle?

Luna drifts away from us at the Ravenclaw table. The moment we reach the Gryffindor table, Ginny is hailed by some fourth-years and she leaves us to go sit with them; Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville and I find seats together halfway down the table, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, and Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the last two giving Harry such an airy, overly-cheery greeting that meant that they must have been talking about him a split second before.

Harry doesn't seem too concerned with this, however; he's busy scanning the staff table that runs along the top wall of the Hall.

"He's not there,"

I scan the staff table, though there's no need. If Hagrid was here, he would've been the easiest to spot.

"He can't have left," Ron says, sounding slightly anxious.

"Of course he hasn't," Harry says firmly.

"You don't think he's hurt or anything, do you?" Hermione says uneasily.

"No," Harry says at once.

"But where is he, then?" I ask, getting more and more worried by the second.

"Maybe he's not back yet. You know - from his mission. The one he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore."

"Yeah... yeah, that'll be it," Ron says, reassured.

Of course, it's the most logical explanation. Regardless, I'm not all too reassured.

"Who is that?" Hermione asks sharply, pointing towards the middle of the staff table.

I follow her line of vision to a squat woman with short, curly, mouse-brown hair, in which she has a horrible pink Alice band that matches the fluffy cardigan she's wearing over her robes. When she turns her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet, I feel a horrible shock of recognition at the sight of her pallid, toad-like face and prominent, pouchy eyes.

I whip around to look at Harry.

"It's that Umbridge woman," I hiss.

"Who?" Hermione asks.

"She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge!" Harry replies.

"Nice cardigan," Ron smirks.

"She works for Fudge!" Hermione repeats, frowning. "What's she doing here, then?"

"Dunno..."

Hermione scans the staff table, eyes narrowing.

"No," she mutters, "no, surely not..."

I have no idea what Hermione's talking about, but don't ask, since my attention is taken by Professor Grubbly-Plank, who has just appeared behind the staff table; she walks along to the very end of the table, before occupying the seat that normally belongs to Hagrid. This means that the first years have crossed the lake and castle.

Sure enough, the doors from the Entrance Hall opens, and in walks Professor McGonagall, leading a long line of scared-looking first years. McGonagall is carrying a stool in which sits an ancient wizard's hat, heavily patched and darned, with a wide rip near the frayed brim. The buzz of talk from the Great Hall dies down, as the first years line up along the staff table, facing the rest of the students. I smile at the way some of them look terrified to make eye contact with anyone, remembering how I was the exact same not too long ago.

The whole school waits with bated breath, before the rip near the brim of the hat opens wide like a mouth, and the Sorting Hat bursts into song.

" _In times of old when I was new,_

_And Hogwarts barely started,_

_The founders of our noble school,_

_Thought never to be parted._

_United by a common goal,_

_They had the selfsame yearning_

_To make the world's best magic school_

_And pass along their learning._

_"Together we will build and teach"_

_The four good friends decided_

_And never did they dream that they_

_Might some day be divided._

_For were there such friends anywhere_

_As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_

_Unless it was the second pair_

_Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw,_

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there, so I can tell_

_The whole sad, sorry tale._

_Said Slytherin, "We'll teach those_

_Whose ancestry's purest."_

_Said Ravenclaw, "We're teach those whose_

_Intelligence is surest."_

_Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those_

_With brave deeds to their name."_

_Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot_

_And treat them just the same."_

_These differences caused little strife_

_When they first came to light._

_For each of the four founders had_

_A house in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted, so_

_For instance, Slytherin_

_Took only pure-blood wizards_

_Of great cunning just like him._

_And only those of the sharpest mind_

_Were taught by Ravenclaw._

_While the bravest and the boldest_

_Went to daring Gryffindor._

_Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest and taught them all she knew_

_Thus, the houses and their founders_

_Maintained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony_

_for several happy years,_

_But then discord crept among us,_

_Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The houses that, like pillars four_

_Had once held up our school,_

_Now turned upon each other,_

_divided, sought to rule._

_And for a while it seemed the school_

_Must meet an early end._

_What with duelling and with fighting and_

_The clash of friend on friend._

_And at last there came a morning_

_When old Slytherin departed._

_And though the fighting then died out,_

_he left us quite downhearted._

_And never since the_

_Founders four were_

_Whittled down to three_

_Have the houses been united_

_as they once were meant to be._

_And now the Sorting Hat is here_

_and you all know the score:_

_I sort you into houses,_

_because that is what I'm for._

_But this year I'll go further,_

_listen closely to my song_

_though condemned I am_

_to split you_

_still I worry that it's wrong._

_Though I must fulfil my duty,_

_And must quarter every year_

_Still I wonder whether sorting,_

_May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils,_

_Read the signs,_

_The warning history shows,_

_For our Hogwarts is in danger,_

_From external, deadly foes._

_And we must unite inside her,_

_Or we'll crumble from within_

_I have told you, I have_

_warned you..._

_Let the sorting now begin._

 

The Hat becomes motionless once more, and the Hall bursts into applause, but it's punctured, for the first time that I can remember, by muttering and whispers. All around the Great Hall, students are exchanging remarks with their friends, and I have a feeling I know exactly what they're talking about.

"Branched out a bit this year, hasn't it?" Ron says, eyebrows raised.

"Too right it has," Harry nods.

The Sorting Hat usually simply confines itself by describing the qualities that's sought out by each of the four houses and its own role in Sorting. As far as I know, it's never given advice.

"I wonder if it's ever given warnings before?" Hermione says, slightly anxious.

"Yes, indeed," Nearly Headless Nick says knowledgeably, leaning over Neville towards towards Hermione. "The Hat feels honour-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels-"

But Professor McGonagall, who's waiting to read the names of first years so that they can be Sorted, is giving the sort of look that scorches. Nick puts a see-through finger to his lip and sits upright again as the muttering comes to an end. Neville looks relieved that the ghost is no longer leaning through him.

With a last frowning look that sweeps the four tables of the Hall, McGonagall looks down at the long piece of parchment and calls out the first name.

"Abercrombie, Euan."

A terrified-looking boy stumbles forward and puts the hat on his head; the only reason it doesn't fall right onto his shoulders is his ears.

It doesn't take long for the rip near the brim to open and call out "Gryffindor!" I clap along loudly with the rest of the Gryffindors as Euan Abercrombie staggers to the table and sits down, looking like he wants to sink through the floor and never be looked at again.

Slowly, the line of first years thin. In between names being called and the Sorting Hat making its decision, I can hear Ron's stomach rumbling loudly, causing me to have to suppress a giggle. Finally, "Zeller, Rose" is Sorted into Hufflepuff, and McGonagall takes the Hat and stool and marches away, as Dumbledore stands up to make his speech.

It's very soothing to see Dumbledore standing before all the students. With all the unexpected changes that have already happened, it's more than a little nice to see something that is the way it's supposed to be: Dumbledore rising to greet everyone before the feast begins.

"To our newcomers," Dumbledore begins in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wife and a smile on his lips, "welcome! To our old hands - welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

There's an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sits back down and throws his beard over his shoulder to keep out of the way of his plate - for food has appeared on the tables, so that the five long tables are groaning under the weight of it all.

"Excellent," Ron says, with a groan of longing, before reaching for chops and piling them onto his place. Nick watches his wistfully.

"What were you saying before the Sorting?" Hermione asks the ghost. "About the Hat giving warnings?"

"Oh, yes," says Nick, who seems glad to look away from Ron, who's eating rost potatoes with an almost indecent enthusiasm. "Yes, I have heard the Hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects great danger for the school. And always, it gives the same message: sand together, stay strong from within."

"Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?" says Ron. His mouth is so full of food that I find it hard to believe he managed to make any noise at all.

"I beg your pardon?" Nick says politely, while Hermione looks mortified.

Ron gives an enormous swallow before saying, "How can it know if the school's in danger if it's a Hat?"

"I have no idea," Nick replies. "Of course, it lives in Dumbledore's office, so I daresay it picks up on things in there."

"And it wants all the houses to be friends?" Harry says. His eyes drift over to the Slytherin table. "Fat chance."

"Well, now, you shouldn't take that attitude," Nick says reprovingly. "Peaceful cooperation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to different houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Slytherin and Gryffindor, I'd never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron."

"Only because you're terrified of him," Ron points out.

Nearly Headless Nick looks extremely offended.

"Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs through my veins-"

"Blood?" Ron interrupts. "Surely you still haven't got-"

"It's a figure of speech!" Nick says, now so annoyed that his head is trembling ominously on his partially severed neck. "I assume that I'm still allowed to use whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied of me" But I am quite used to students poking fun at my death, I assure you!"

"Nick, he wasn't laughing at you!" Hermione assures him, throwing Ron a furious look.

Unfortunately, Ron's mouth is packed to the exploding point with food again, so that all he can manage is "Node iddum eentup sechew," which Nick doesn't think to be a satisfactory apology. He relocates next to the Creevey brothers.

"Well done, Ron," Hermione snaps.

"What?" Ron says indignantly, having managed to swallow his food. "I'm not allowed to ask a simple question?"

"Oh, forget it," Hermione says irritably, and they spend the rest of the meal in huffy silence.

Harry and I, being all too used to their bickering, don't try to reconcile them, knowing that they'll do it on their own soon enough.

When all the students have finished eating and the noise level is starting to creep upwards once more, Dumbledore gets to his feet, causing the talking to stop immediately. I start feeling pleasantly drowsy, dreaming of my four-poster upstairs, warm and soft.

"Well, now that we're digesting another magnificent feast, I beg your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," Dumbledore says. "First-years ought to know that the Forbidden Forest is out-of-bounds to students - and a few of our older students ought to know this by now, too," Harry, Ron, Hermione and I exchange smirks at this.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to remind you, for what he tells me to be the four hundred-and-sixty second time, to remind you that magic is not permitted in the corridors, along with a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to the door of Mr. Filch's office.

"We have two changes of staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking care of Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

There's a round of police but unenthusiastic applause, during which Harry, Ron, Hermione and I exchange panicked looks; Dumbledore didn't state how long Grubbly-Plank would be teaching.

"Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams will take place on the-"

He breaks off, looking at Umbridge enquiringly. For a moment, it's unclear as to why Dumbledore had stopped talking, until she clears her throat and it becomes clear that she's stood up and intends of making a speech.

Dumbledore looks surprised for only a moment, before sitting down smartly and looking alertly at Professor Umbridge, as though he desires nothing more than to listen to whatever speech she has prepared. Other professors are not as good at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared underneath her flyaway hair, and McGonagall's mouth is a line thinner than I've ever seen. No new teachers has ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Several students are exchanging smirks with their friends; clearly, this woman doesn't know how things work at Hogwarts. I catch Fred's eye and he spins his finger in a circle beside his head, causing me to giggle in spite of myself.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Umbridge says, "for those kind words of welcome."

Her voice is high-pitched, breathy, and little girlish, and I feel an inexplicable rush of dislike that I felt at the trial; all I know is that I hate everything about her, from her stupid voice and even more stupid cardigan. She gives another one of her throat-clearing coughs, which I think I might hate more than the voice and the cardigan combined, before continuing.

"Well, it is very lovely to be back at Hogwarts," she says, smiling in a way that shows pointy little feet. "And to see such happy faces smiling up at me."

My eyes sweep around the Great Hall. Nobody I can see looks very happy. In fact, they look taken aback and rather annoyed that they're being spoken to like they're five.

"I'm very much looking forward to getting you know you all, and I'm sure we'll become very good friends!"

Students exchange looks at this; some of them - most of them, really - barely concealing grins. I can hear Fred and George chorusing "That's likely" under their breath.

"I'll be friends with her so long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan," Parvati whispers to Lavender, and the two of them lapse into silent giggles.

Professor Umbridge clears her throat for a third time, but when she continues, her voice loses the breathiness, sounding much more businesslike, with a dull learned-by-heart tone to her words.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of utmost importance. The rare gifts in which you were given when you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to wizards must be passed down from generation to generation, lest me lost them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble art of teaching."

Professor Umbridge pauses here and there to give a little bow at her fellow teachers, none of whom bowed back. Professor McGonagall's eyebrows have contracted in a way to make her look absolutely hawk like, and I notice her exchange significant looks with Professor Sprout. Again, Umbridge gives another little "hem, hem" before continuing.

"Every headmaster and headmistress has brought something new to the task of governing this historic school, and that as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress' sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, permanence and chance, between tradition and innovation..."

I find my attentiveness ebbing away, and the same seems to go for most people in the Hall, who are now whispering and giggling with their friends, or otherwise daydreaming, but I'm determined to keep listening, certain that there will be some explanation for her being here, if she's from the Ministry.  _Progress for progress' sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering..._

"... because some changed will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practised that ought to be prohibited."

She sits down. Dumbledore applauds her, and the members of staff join him, but several, I notice, only bring their hands together once or twice before stopping. McGonagall is among those. A few students join in, but most weren't paying attention to the speech enough to know that it had ended, and before they can start applauding, Dumbledore stands up. I refuse to applause, now understanding why Umbridge is teaching at Hogwarts.

Thinking about it, I'm note sure why I'm surprised. Really, what other explanation would there be for a Ministry member as high up as she is to be teaching?

"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating," Dumbledore says, bowing to her. "Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held..."

"Yes, it certainly was  _illuminating_ ," Hermione says in a low voice.

I exchange glances with her, and it becomes apparent that she's thinking the same thing.

"You're not telling me you enjoyed it," Ron says, turning a glazed face towards her. "That was about the dullest speech I've ever heard, and I grew up with Percy."

"I said illuminating, not enjoyable," Hermione says. "It explained a lot."

"Did it?" Harry asks, surprised. "It sounded like a load of waffle to me."

"Well, there was a lot of important stuff in that waffle," I say grimly.

"Was there?" Ron says blankly.

"How about: 'progress for progress' sake must be discouraged'?" Hermione says.

"Or how about: 'pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited'?" I add.

"Well, what does it mean?" asks Ron impatiently, looking between the two of us.

"I'll tell you what it means," Hermione says through gritted teeth. "It means the Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts."

There's a great clattering and banging all around us; Dumbledore has obviously dismissed the school, because everyone's starting to exit the Hall, Hermione jumps up, looking flustered.

"Ron, we're supposed to show the first years where to go!"

"Oh, yeah," says Ron, who'd clearly forgotten. "Hey - hey, you lot! Midgets!"

"Ron!"

"Well, they are, they're titchy..."

"I know, but you can't call them midgets! First years!" Hermione calls commandingly along the table. "This way, please!"

A group of new students walk shyly between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying very hard not to lead the group. They are very small indeed; I might have always been on the shorter side, but I'm convinced I was never that short, nor did I look that young.

Harry and I grin at them. A boy next to Euan Abercrombie looks terrified at the sight of Harry. He nudges Euan and whispers something in his ear. Euan looks equally horrified and gives Harry a terrified look. Harry's grin disappears immediately, as does mine.

"C'mon, we ought to get back to Gryffindor tower," I say to Harry, shooting him a nervous look.

"Yeah, right," he says dully, nodding. "See you later," he adds to Ron and Hermione, and I wave to them, before we head off to Gryffindor tower.

Harry walks quicker than I do, and I have to start speed walking in order to keep up. He hurried up the marble staircase, takes a few concealed short-cuts, until most of the crowds are gone. Of course, I understand perfectly why he's rushing so much; he wants to avoid the stares like those he'd received from Euan Abercrombie and his friend.

We've reached the end of the corridor of the Gryffindor common room and have halted in front of the Fat Lady before we realize that neither of us know the password.

"Er..." Harry says, looking up at the portrait of the Fat Lady, who soothes the folds of her satin pink dress, looking down at us sternly.

"No password, no entrance."

I'm just about to start reasoning and pleading, when someone calls, "Harry, Hazel, I  know it!" Someone pants along behind us, and we turn to find Neville hurrying towards us. "Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it, for once-" He waves the stunted little cactus he'd shown us on the train. "Mimbulus mimbletonia!"

"Correct," the Fat Lady says, and her portrait swings open like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall, through which Harry, Neville, and I climb through. The Gryffindor common room looks as welcoming as ever, a cozy circular tower room, full of dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire crackles merrily in the grate, and a few people are warming their hands by it before heading up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room, Fred and George are pinning something up to the notice board. I watch them suspiciously for a moment, raising and eyebrow. They just smirk. Harry waves at them, before bidding me goodnight and heading upstairs. Neville waves at me and follows Harry up to the boys' dormitories.

I walk over to Fred and George, before stopping beside them, crossing my arms and looking at them enquiringly.

"What are you doing?" I ask suspiciously.

"Putting up an ad," George replies simply.

"What kind of ad?"

"See for yourself," Fred says, and they step away from the board. I step a bit closer and look up at the ad.

_GALLEONS OF GALLEONS_

_Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold? Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room, for simple, part time, virtually painless jobs (we regret that all work undertaken is at applicant's own risk)_

I shake my head upon finishing it.

"You guys are unbelievable," I say. "You can't ask for other people to test this stuff out!"

"Why not?" George says.

"You and I both know that half of that stuff probably isn't safe."

"Well, how else are we supposed to find out if it is?" Fred argues. "We've tested them out a million and one times on ourselves and Lee, and even you've graciously agreed to be a tester, but we've got to see if it works well for other people too."

"Besides, it's not like they're doing this for free. We  _are_ paying them," George adds.

"Yeah, well, you better be paying them real well," I say, annoyed. "And they better not get hurt..."

"Or what?" George asks challengingly, raising an eyebrow. "We've said that it's at their own risk, they  _know_ what they might be getting into..."

"Or you can trust that I'll be on your case," I say, ignoring his last statement. "And if it isn't me, it'll be Hermione."

"Oh, really?" Fred scoffs. "Like she and Ickle Ronniekins will do anything about it."

"You underestimate her," I say simply. "She can shut you down completely if she finds it necessary."

"Yeah?" George says.

"We'll just see about that," Fred says.

I shake my head once more.

"Mental, both of you," I insist. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

Fred leans closer to me and whispers, "How about I see you tonight? Say, three in the morning?"

I look at him in disbelief, before nodding with a smile on my face. "Only you."

"Yup," he grins, pulling away, and looking enormously satisfied at my comment. "Only me."

George pretends to throw up, saying, "Could you two, I don't know, maybe not do that?"

I just grin cheekily at him, before waving at the both of them and hurrying upstairs.

Hermione walks in shortly after I do, looking very tired. Remembering how tired Ron had looked after returning from the prefect's carriage as well, I feel rather glad that I'm not a prefect.

"... and he's a lying, mental little-" Lavender's saying to Parvati, and Hermione and I exchange looks, knowing exactly who she's talking about.

"Who?" I ask testily.

She looks at me nervously, knowing I'm friends with Harry, before standing straighter and boldly saying, "Harry Potter. He's a complete nutter, coming out with this rubbish about You-Know-Who back, he's crazy, stupid, and he's just looking for attention, as if he has gotten enough attention with that scar. And Dumbledore's a fool for believing him."

"You're the crazy one," I fire immediately. "Think about what Harry was famous  _for_ \- why would he make lies like that? About Voldemort being back? Why would someone like him do that? If you knew him at all, you'd know that he doesn't want attention, especially not in that way. And you're the fool for believing the rubbish the  _Daily Prophet_ spits out."

"What do you mean he doesn't want attention? All he's been doing ever since he's gotten here is put himself in the spotlight! He's always making sure he's the centre of attention, even if it gets him - and a whole lot of other people - into trouble! For God's sake, he entered himself in the Tri-wizard Tournament last year, when he was under-age! And I'd like to know what went down in that maze, because I don't quite believe Dumbledore's story! I can't believe that you believe any of this - do you?" She asks accusingly of Hermione.

"Yes, actually, I do, and you're being ridiculous and have no idea what you're talking about right now," Hermione says.

"I thought you were smarter than that," Lavender says coldly.

"And I'd appreciate it if you'd shut up," Hermione retorts, and, I can't tell if it's on purpose, but she seems to re-position herself so that her prefect badge becomes more prominent.

Lavender looks from me, to Hermione, to her silent best friend, before letting out a noise of anger and walking out of the dormitory. Where she's going, I don't know, nor do I really care. Hermione lets out a little sigh, but I look around at Parvati expectantly. She can tell the question I expect her to answer.

"My parents always thought that the  _Prophet_ had more lies than truth, so they were never very big on it. And even if they were, they're bigger on Dumbledore. In any case, the articles do seem a little ridiculous. So, yeah, I'm on your side. Harry's side."

I smile faintly, before turning away getting changed, and getting to bed. I close the curtains of my four poster around me, and shortly after I can hear Lavender walking back in. I roll my eyes.

Before, I wanted to get some sleep in before I meet with Fred, but now, between Umbridge and Lavender and everything in between, I realize I have way too much on my mind to even think about getting any sleep. Sighing, I turn over, as I will many times until the clock strikes three, hoping that Fred will have some way to relax me.


	16. Continuing the Tradition

**Ours**

**Chapter Sixteen: Continuing the Tradition**

 

I check my watch several more times for the next few hours, getting more impatient each time. I'm just getting a book to read by wandlight, when I glance at the clock and find that it's two forty-six. Deciding it won't hurt to go down a little early, I have a serious debate over whether I should chance clothes. Finally, I just throw a jumper on over my clothes and hurry downstairs, as quietly as I can manage.

I walk over and sit down on one of the sofas, staring blankly into the crackling flames. When I hear footsteps, I feel a jolt of excitement that surprises me slightly. I was too busy being angry and preoccupied to realize just how excited I am to see Fred - as though I didn't see him all the bloody time.

 _Dear God, what am I going to do next year?_ I think.

I feel a pang of sadness and dread for next year. Every year he's been at Hogwarts, and I've grown so used to it and comforted by it, that the thought of Fred - and George and Lee, for that matter - not being at Hogwarts seems horribly wrong.

I shake my head, as though to shake off such thoughts.

 _Don't think about it, Hazel. You've got time, you've got plenty of time._ I remind myself.  _Besides, its not like you won't see them ever again._

Someone kisses the top of my head, before sitting down beside me. I look over at the figure and find that it's Fred. I feel rather relieved that he also just opted to wear pyjamas and a jumper.

"Good morning," he says, with a cheeky grin.

"A bit early for that, don't you think?" I smile, rubbing my eyes blearily.

"Never too early for manners, Knight," Fred winks, causing me to roll my eyes.

"Enough small talk, then," I say. "What exactly did you want me up at three in the morning for? We've got classes tomorrow, you know."

"Yet you showed up anyway, so clearly you don't care that much," he says. After a moment, he adds, "Or maybe you just love me too much to stay away."

"Gonna have to go with the first one, Freddie," I laugh.

"Harsh," he says, grinning.

"Maybe," I shrug. "So, you going to tell me what this is about, or not?"

"Well," Fred begins. "It's occurred to me for the past two years, we've spoken in the middle of the first night at Hogwarts. So, I figured why not make this the third? Why not grab our final opportunity to continue this tradition?"

"Good point," I nod.

"I usually have those," Fred says.

"You sure about that one?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Shut up," he says, throwing a pillow at me.

"Make me," I reply, throwing the pillow back at him.

"Oh, we're going there, are we?" he asks, a smirk on his face.

"Yes," I say, nodding. "Yes, we are."

"Well, if you insist," Fred shrugs, his smirk widening, before kissing me softly.

I kiss him back immediately, smiling into it. When he pulls away, he has a smirk on his face.

"Well, would you look at that," he says. "I made you."

"Oh, shut up," I say, giggling and punching him lightly.

"Make me,"

"Gladly," I reply, before leaning in and kissing him once more. I pull away after a moment, but I still keep my face close to his. "So, what'd you want to talk about?"

"I - dunno - anything," he says, looking intently at my lips, before kissing them again quickly. "How about how good of a kisser you are?  _Merlin._ "

With that, he pulls me into another kiss. I can feel myself blushing, and I pull away after kissing him back quickly.

"You know, funny enough, I'm not sure if that makes for very good conversation."

"Ah, clearly you don't know how good you are," Fred says, smiling. "I could talk about it all day."

"You're ridiculous," I shake my head.

"Only for you," he replies promptly, his smile widening.

"Oh, God, stop doing that," I bury my head into his shoulder.

"Doing what?" he asks in an innocent voice that hasn't fooled me for years.

"You know bloody well what," I grumble.

"That's not being very specific, Knight,"

"You dickhead," I say, taking my head off his shoulder but smiling slightly all the same. "That thing you do where you say ridiculously corny things, that are funny because they're so god-damn corny, but they still kind of work on me a little bit and it makes me think I'm insane.  _That_ thing."

"Well, what exactly do you want me to do?" Fred asks, smirking. "It's not my fault I have a way with words, to quote you, that clearly has quite the effect on you."

"You're unbearable," I tell him seriously.

"Unbearably perfect," he says, nodding, causing me to laugh. He studies me for a moment, before frowning. "Are you all right?"

"Um, yeah?" I say, thrown by the question. After thinking about it for a moment, however, I'm not sure if I am completely all right. I don't bring it up, though. "Why d'you ask?"

"You look kinda tired," Fred tells me.

"Gee, maybe it's because you had me up at three in the bloody morning to have a chat," I say sarcastically.

"True," he concedes, but he still looks concerned. "So, that's it, then? Nothing else? Nothing at all?"

"I dunno," I say truthfully. "I am a bit worried. But that's normal, with it being the beginning of the year and all," I add quickly. "At least, it is for me. And things are different now with Voldemort being back - and, oh, come on, Fred, it's just a name - so can you really blame me for being a little worried?"

"No," he says, sighing. "No, I can't. I wish I could stop you being worried, though."

"Just - let's just talk about something else," I say bracingly. "I'll be fine, you know, me."

He grins at that, saying, "Yeah, I do," before launching into a discussion about Quidditch.

"Angelina's captain this year," Fred informs me.

"Is she? That's awesome!" I say appreciatively.

"I know," Fred agrees. "Good thing about it is that she'll give us more of a break than Oliver did."

"Oh, God, that's going to be refreshing," I say happily. "Though, at least it paid off with Oliver. We did win the Cup, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did," he says proudly. "And we're keeping it with Gryffindor this year, that's for sure. It's my last year here, and the last thing I want to see is another house winning that Cup -  _especially_ Slytherin."

"We're definitely winning it," I say matter-of-factly. "Even without a Keeper as good as Oliver, we've got a fantastic team. Let's just hope we get ourselves a really good Keeper."

"Yeah, we've got it, we'll win," Fred nods. "Let's hope we haven't lost our touch, either. It has been a full year since any of us have played."

A feeling of horror passes through me for a moment, and he laughs. Obviously my emotions showed through into my face.

"You should've seen your face!" he says, still chuckling. "I'm just kidding, Hazel. We're not going to have become useless on a broom in the matter of a year. We might be a little rusty, but that's it. Nothing that can't be fixed in a couple practices."

"Right, yeah," I say breathlessly, nodding. He laughs at my expression again, and I let out a laugh myself, realizing how ridiculous I'm being.

We sit and laugh for what feels like hours but what's probably only minutes, and I think that I'd much rather be laughing at the smallest things with Fred Weasley than sleeping, no matter what the time.

"I'm going to miss this,"

The words slip out of my mouth after we've calmed down, and I don't know why I said it, I don't know what I'm thinking - in fact, I don't think I'm thinking at all - but the words seem so necessary to have been said that I think I might've exploded if I hadn't said them.

"Miss what?" he asks me, though I'm certain he knows what I mean.

I elaborate anyway. "Miss the way we'd laugh at the smallest things for so long, and our conversations, and the fact that you'll drag me around the castle or just talk to me in the middle of the night, because you're bored or you want to 'continue a tradition'," I put air quotes around the words "continue the tradition". "I'm going to miss you, Fred."

He's silent for a moment. I look over him, scared that I'd said too much.

"Hazel," he says slowly, a small smile on his face. "It's not like I've got ten months to live. I'm still going to see you. We've got summers, and we'll write to each other, and I'll come to see you during Hogsmeade trips. Just send me a letter telling me when, and I'll be there. Besides, after I've left you'll only have two more years. It'll fly by, believe me."

"I know," I say quickly, not wanting him to think I'm stupid and whiny and clingy. "It's just going to be different - and not in a good way - without you."

"I guess," he muses, smirking. "I have left my mark on this place, haven't I?"

"And on me, too," I mumble under my breath, looking down at my lap, but one quick glance on me gives me the distinct impression that he heard me. I slap myself mentally, upset that he knows the exact effect he has on me.

He forces me gently to look up and into his eyes.

"Listen, it'll be okay. I could be a million miles away, and we'll still be fine, all right? Wee'll be fine. But until then, let's just focus on the present."

I stare back at him. I think that he could be lying. He might think that we definitely won't work out once he's left Hogwarts, but looking into his eyes, I realize that he really means what he's saying. A smile plays on my lips at the realization.

"Yeah, yeah we're good," I nod, before kissing him.

We spend the rest of the time bringing up old memories.

"Remember when you and George threw me into the lake, so I pretended to drown and you lot thought you almost killed me?" I say, grinning. "As if you guys could get rid of me that easily."

"Remember when we turned you purple?"

"Right before the official start of a beautiful friendship," I say fondly. "Good times. How about when you guys pissed me off so I stole one of your brooms and almost took off in the Forbidden Forest with it."

"And you ended up on the Quidditch team?" Fred says. "How much do you owe us?"

"I beg your pardon?" I say, eyebrows raised.

"Think about it. If we hadn't pissed you off, you wouldn't have gone off and stolen my broom - it was  _my_ broom, by the way - and Oliver wouldn't have seen you, and you wouldn't have been on the team, because, remember, you initially didn't have any intention of wanting to try out."

"Fantastic logic, Weasley," I say, grinning.

"No need to thank us," Fred adds.

"Good, because I wouldn't have either way," I tell him seriously, and we both laugh.

And so it continues like this, to the point where we're both letting out yawns every five minutes and my head droops onto his shoulder, his head resting on top of mine.

"We ought to get some sleep," I say conversationally.

"Probably, yeah," he agrees, but it's not for another twenty minutes that we get up and say our goodbyes.

"Thanks for this," I say rather awkwardly.

"No problem, Knight," he says, bowing a little and smirking. "See, wasn't this worth being awake so late?"

"I suppose so," I say jokingly, though we both know my real answer.

I go up on my tiptoes and kiss him goodnight, my hands on his shoulders and his hands holding my face.

"Goodnight, Fred," I say, when we've pulled away and my heels have touched the ground again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"'Night, Hazel," he replies. "Of course you will."

And with that, we head to our respective dormitories. I look around at the clock, and find that it's four fifty. I realize that I'm going to be very tired in the morning, but I find that I don't care much. It was worth it.

I take off my jumper, throwing it onto the bed, before settling back in and closing the curtains around me. Thoughts of Fred are the only things in my mind as I drift off to a peaceful sleep, grateful that he had managed to calm me down and cheer me up.


	17. Professor Umbridge

**Ours**

**Chapter Seventeen: Professor Umbridge**

 

When Hermione shakes me awake, I immediately let out a groan, shutting my eyes tighter.

"Hermione, have mercy," I beg. "Let me sleep."

"You have to get up," she says, with a sigh of a person who's said the same thing far too many times, "or we'll be late."

"Or  _I'll_ be late," I inform her, my eyes still determinedly closed. "You don't  _have_ to wait for me, you know."

"But you know I'm going to anyways, so get up for my sake," she insists.

Regardless of my love for Hermione, it takes me another ten minutes to get to my feet, rubbing my eyes blearily and stumbling blindly to the bathroom.

"Why are you so tired, anyway?" Hermione asks, as she begins brushing her hair.

"Hermione, when am I not tired this early in the morning?" I say, after spitting out toothpaste.

"But you're more tired than usual," she points out. "Did you not get any sleep or something?"

Memories of my conversation with Fred flash through my mind, and a smile spreads across my lips at the thought.

"You could say that," I reply vaguely.

She glances at me, eyes narrowed.

"What happened?" she asks suspiciously. "Did you sneak out, or something, because-"

"No, no, nothing like that," I say truthfully. "I was in the common room, as a matter of fact. I believe the rules never said anything against being in there at any time of the day - or night."

"Who were you in the common room with?" she asks.

"What makes you think I was in the common room  _with_ someone?" is all I say in reply.

"Were you  _not_ in the common room with someone?"

"All right, fine, you win," I say, after pausing for a moment. "I was with Fred."

"Of course you were," she says, half exasperated, half amused, and says nothing more on the subject.

I finish brushing my teeth, shower quickly, get dressed, brush my hair, grab my stuff, and head out of the dormitory with Hermione. We see Harry and Ron halfway across the common room, looking very irritated. Hermione and I exchange curious looks, before hurrying to catch up to them.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asks of them. "You look absolutely - oh, for heaven's sake!"

She's staring at the common room noticeboard. I don't even have to follow her line of vision to know what's gotten her upset. It's Fred and George's sign.

"They are the limit," Hermione says grimly, taking down the sign, which, as it turns out, Fred and George had pinned over the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend in October. "We're going to have to talk to them, Ron."

Ron looks positively alarmed at Hermione's words, and I try not to laugh at his expression.

"Why?"

"Because we're prefects!" Hermione replies, as we climb out through the portrait hole. "It's up to us to stop this kind of thing!"

Ron says nothing to that. One look at him tells me that the idea of not letting Fred and George do exactly what they liked doesn't seem very inviting at all.

"Anyway, what's up, Harry?" I ask, partly wanting to change the subject for Ron's sake, partly still curious. "You seem angry."

"Seamus reckons that Harry's lying about You-Know-Who," Ron answers, when Harry doesn't.

"Yeah, so does Lavender," Hermione says gloomily.

"Been having a nice chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you two?" Harry says loudly.

Hermione and I exchange surprised looks, as we've never shown signs of not being on his side on something this important.

"No," I say calmly. "We told her to keep her big, fat mouth shut about you, actually. And, you know, I think we'd all prefer if you stopped jumping down our throats, Harry, because in case you haven't noticed, we're on  _you're_ side, here."

There's a short pause, before Harry says in a low voice, "Sorry."

"It's fine," I say, waving his words away. I shake my head, adding, "Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the last end-of-term feast?"

Harry and Ron stare at me blankly, and Hermione and I exchange exasperated looks.

"About You-Know-Who," she elaborates. "He said his 'gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can only fight it by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust-'"

"How do you remember all that?" Ron says in admiration.

"I  _listen_ , Ron," she replies.

"So do I, but I still couldn't tell you exactly what-" he begins, but Hermione cuts him off.

"The point," Hermione presses on loudly, "is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You-Know-Who's only been back for two months, and we're already starting to fight among ourselves. And the Sorting Hat's message was the same: stand together, be united-"

"And Harry got it right last night," Ron retorts. "If that means we have to get friendly with the Slytherins - fat chance."

"Well, I think it's a pity that we're not trying for a bit of inter-house unity," Hermione says crossly. We've reached the foot of the marble staircase, at this point. A ling of fourth-year Ravenclaws are crossing the Entrance Hall; they catch sight of Harry and hurry to form a tighter group, as though frightened that he might attack stragglers.

"Yeah, we really ought to try and make friends with people like that," Harry says sarcastically.

We follow the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall, all of us instinctively looking at the staff table as we enter. Professor Grubbly-Plank is talking to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, and Hagrid is again only made conspicuous by his absence. My mood worse than before, I follow Harry, Ron, and Hermione to the Gryffindor table.

"Dumbledore didn't even say how long that Grubbly-Plank woman was staying," Harry points out.

"Maybe..." Hermione says thoughtfully.

"What?" Harry, Ron, and I ask in unison.

"Well... maybe he didn't want to draw attention to the fact that Hagrid was gone."

"What d'you mean not draw attention to it?" Ron says, half laughing. "How could anyone not notice?"

Before Hermione can say anything to that, Angelina Johnson marches up to Harry and I.

"Hi, Angelina," Harry and I chorus.

"Hi. Good summer?" she asks briskly, and without waiting for an answer, says, "Listen, I've been made captain for the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

"Nice one!" Harry says, grinning, while I smile and nod.

"Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now that Wood's gonee. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new personnel fits in."

"Okay," Harry says.

"Sounds good," I add, nodding.

Angelina smiles at us and departs.

"I'd forgotten Wood had left," Hermione says vaguely, sitting down at the Gryffindor table beside Ron. "I suppose that'll make quite a difference to the team?"

"I s'pose," Harry says, taking the bench opposite. "He was a good Keeper..."

"But we are still an excellent team without him," I point out, echoing my words from last night as I sit down next to Harry.

"And besides, it can never hurt to have new blood, can it?" Ron adds.

With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls come soaring through the upper windows. They descend all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners, showering the Hall with droplets of water; clearly, it's raining very hard outside. I can't find Midnight anywhere, but that was hardly a surprise, as my only correspondent is Remus, and there's hardly been any chance for anything worth writing a letter about to happen, and he wouldn't be so eager to ask about how things are going after all of twenty four hours. Hermione, on the other hand, has to move her goblet of orange juice out of the way to make room for the large brown owl delivering a copy of the  _Daily Prophet._

"What are you still getting that for?" Harry asks irritably, as Hermione gives the own a Knut on the leather pouch on its leg, before it takes off again. "I'm not bothering anymore... load of rubbish."

"It's best to see what the enemy is saying," Hermione says darkly, before disappearing behind the newspaper, not emerging until she has read it all, and Harry, Ron, and I are finished eating.

"Nothing," she informs us. "Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything."

Professor McGonagall is now moving along the table, passing out schedules.

"Look at today!" Ron groans. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defence Against the Dark Arts... Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and the Umbridge woman, all in one day! I wish Fred and George would hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted..."

"Do my ears deceive me?" Fred says, arriving with George and squeezing onto the seat beside me, his twin beside him. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"

"Look at what we've got," Ron says grumpily, shoving his timetable under Fred's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."

"Fair point, little bro," Fred says, scanning the column. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."

"Why's it cheap?" Ron asks suspiciously.

"Because you'll keep bleeding until you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet," George answers, helping himself to a kipper.

"Cheers," Ron says gloomily, pocketing his timetable, "but I think I'll take the classes."

"And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes," Hermione pipes up, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor noticeboard."

"Says who?" George asks, astonished.

"Says me," Hermione says firmly. "And Ron."

"Leave me out of it," Ron says hastily.

Hermione glares at him, while Fred and George snigger.

"You'll be singing to a different tune soon enough, Hermione," Fred says matter-of-factly, thickly buttering a crumpet. "You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."

"And why would starting fifth year mean that I want a Snackbox?" Hermione asks.

"Fifth year's OWL year," George replies.

"So?"

"So you've got your exams soon, haven't you? They'll be keeping yours noses so hard to the grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," Fred says with satisfaction.

"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to OWL's," George adds happily. "Tears and tantrums... Patricia Stimpson kept coming up faint..."

"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" Fred says reminiscently.

"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox powder in his pyjamas," George says.

"Oh, yeah," says Fred, grinning. "I'd forgotten... hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"

"Anyway, it's a nightmare of the year, the fifth," George continues. "If you care about exam results, anyway. Fred and I had managed to keep our spirits up, somehow."

"Yeah... you got, what was it, three OWL's each?" Ron says.

"Yep," Fred nods, completely unconcerned. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."

"We seriously debated whether we were even going to bother coming back for our seventh year," George informs us brightly, "now what we've got-" he breaks off suddenly, glancing at Harry before quickly adding, "-now what we've got our OWL's. I mean, do we really need NEWT's? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."

"But we're not going to waste our last year here, either," Fred adds, looking affectionately around the Great Hall. "We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from a joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, then produce products fit to the demand."

"But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?" Hermione asks suspiciously. "You're going to need all the ingredients and materials - and a premises, too, I suppose..."

"Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione," Fred says with a wink, as Harry dives down to retrieve a fork he'd dropped. "Come on, Georgie, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology."

Fred kisses my cheek quickly, and he and George get up out of their seats. Harry emerges as Fred and George walk away, each of them carrying a stack of toast.

"What did that mean?" Hermione asks, looking from Harry, to Ron, to me, spending more time on me. "'Ask us no questions...' Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?"

"You know, I've been wondering that myself," Ron says. "They bought me a new set of dress robes over the summer and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons..."

"Do  _you_ know something?" Hermione asks me, almost accusingly.

"No," I reply, almost defensively. "I haven't got a clue. I asked them over the summer and didn't get anymore out of them than you did. They're good at keeping secrets, those two."

"D'you reckon it's true that this year is going to be really tough? Because of the exams?" Harry asks suddenly, and I look at him suspiciously for a moment, but say nothing.

"Oh, yeah," Ron nods. "Bound to be, isn't it? OWL's are really important, affect the jobs you apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWT's you want to do next year.

"D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?" Harry asks of us, as we leave the Great Hall and set off for History of Magic.

"Not really," Ron replies. "Except... well..." he trails off, looking sheepish.

"What?" Harry urges him.

"Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror," Ron says in an off-hand voice.

"Yeah, it would," Harry agrees fervently.

"But they're, like, the elite," Ron says. "You have to be really, really good. What about you two, Hermione, Hazel?"

"No clue," I reply immediately. "Being an Auror would be cook, though... still, I'm not sure."

"I don't know, either," Hermione adds. "I think I'd like to do something really worthwhile, though."

"Being an Auror's worthwhile!" Harry points out.

"I know, but it's not the only worthwhile career," Hermione insists. "I mean, if I could take SPEW further..."

I don't say anything to that, unsure as to just how far she'd be able to take SPEW. I mean, I agree with what she's saying, but it doesn't seem like many other wizards do.

History of Magic is known by all students to be the most boring class ever devised by wizards or Muggles alike. It might be because of Professor Binns, the ghost teacher, whose droning voice guarantees drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warmer weather. Or it might just be because the subject in itself is simply boring as fuck. As he lectures on in that wheezy voice, I determinedly try to pay attention, scribbling his words down on a piece of parchment. I zone out from time to time, though it doesn't concern me too much, because I always look over the chapter in  _A History of Magic_ , which Binns almost always recites word for word during lessons. Meanwhile, Harry and Ron play hangman on the corner of Harry's parchment, something I'd much rather be doing, but I'd rather not be subjected to Hermione's dirty looks, so I continue to fight the desire to sleep or fool around, continuing to take notes.

"How would it be," Hermione begins coldly, as we leave the classroom for break, "if I refused to lend you my notes this year?"

"We'd fail our OWL," Ron replies simply. "How would you like having that on your conscience?"

"Well, you'd deserve it," Hermione snaps. "You don't even try to listen to him, do you?"

"We do try," Ron insists. "We just haven't got your brains or memory or your concentration - you're just cleverer than we are - is it nice to rub it in?"

"Oh, don't give me that rubbish," Hermione says, but she looks significantly less annoyed as she leads the way to the damp courtyard.

A fine misty drizzle is falling, so that the edges of the people standing huddled together at the edges of the courtyard look blurred. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I choose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up the collar of our robes against the chilly September air, and talking about what Snape might have in store for our first lesson of the year. We've just agreed that it's going to be something extremely difficult to catch us off guard after a two month holiday, when someone approaches us.

"Hello, Harry!" It's Cho Change, who, to my surprise, is on her own again.

It's rare to see Cho surrounded by a group of friends, all seeming to be giggling the whispering nonstop. Clearly, she wanted to be able to speak to Harry without her friends giggling and pointing and whispering behind their hands. Or maybe her friends think Harry's off her rocker and it'd be a bit awkward trying to have a chat with someone while your friends are glaring at them, especially someone like you. One thing's for sure, I'm very happy for the both of them that there's no Stinksap to be seen.

"Hi," Harry says, looking more than a little awkward.

"You got that stuff off, then?" Cho asks.

"Yeah," Harry nods, with a grin that tells me he's trying to make the memory seem amusing rather than mortifying. From an outside perspective, it is kind of funny, though I do still feel embarrassed for them. "So... er, did you have a good summer."

I grimace that that, and one quick look at Harry tells me he regretted saying it the moment the words slipped out of his mouth. Cedric Diggory had been Cho's boyfriend, and his extremely recent death must have affected her holidays terribly.

Something seems to tauten in Cho's face, but she says, "Oh, it was all right, you know..."

"Is that a Tornados badge?" Ron suddenly demands of Cho, pointing at the badge on the front of Cho's robes, which is sky-blue with a double gold 'T' on it. "You don't support them, do you?"

He's got to be joking.

"Yeah, I do," Cho replies.

"Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?" Ron asks, and I find the tone of accusation in his voice to be extremely unnecessary, particularly at a time like this.

"I've supported them since I was six," Cho says coolly. "Anyway, see you around, Harry."

Hermione waits until Cho is halfway across the courtyard before rounding on Ron.

"You're so tactless!"

"What? I only asked her if-"

"Couldn't you see she wanted to talk to Harry along?" Hermione says.

"So? She could've done it. I wasn't stopping-"

"Yes, you were, Ronald," I sigh, rolling my eyes and running a hand through my hair. "She wasn't exactly able to get a word in with you interrogating and attacking her over her favourite Quidditch team."

"Attacking her? I wasn't attacking her, I was just-" Ron says defensively.

"Yes, you were," I say matter-of-factly. "Who cares if she likes the tornados, anyway?"

"Oh, come on, half the people wearing those badges only bought them last season," Ron insists.

"But why does it matter?" Hermione says, getting more annoyed by the second.

"It means they're not real fans, they're just jumping on the bandwagon..."

"That's the bell," Harry says dully, because Ron and Hermione hadn't heard over their bickering.

I give Harry a sympathetic look, as Ron and Hermione don't stop bickering until they've entered Snape's dungeons, where Harry and I sit in between the two, and ignore the huffy, irritable noises issuing from them.

"Settle down," Snape says coldly, shutting the door.

There's no need for him to give that order, for the moment the door closes, silence falls and any fidgeting stops. Snape's mere presence is usually enough to shut a class right up.

"Before we begin today's lesson," says Snape, sweeping over to his desk and looking around the classroom, "I think it important to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrap an 'Acceptable' in my OWL, or suffer my... displeasure."

His gaze lingers on Neville, who gulps, as Potions has always been his weak point.

"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape continues. "I take only the very best into my NEWT potions class, meaning that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye."

His gaze focuses now on Harry, who simply glares right back at him, much to my approval.

"But we have another year to go before that happy farewell," Snape says softly, "so whether or not you intent to attempt NEWT, I advise you all to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students.

"Today we will be making a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: if you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometime irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you're doing." At these words, Hermione sits straighter, her expression one of utmost concentration. "The ingredients and method-" Snape flicks his wand, "-are on the blackboard-" the instructions appear there at this words, "-you will find everything you need-" he flicks his wand again, "-in the store cupboard-" the door of said cupboard springs open, "-you have an hour and a half... start."

Just as we had predicted, Snape could hardly set us a more difficult potion. The ingredients have to be added to the cauldron precisely in the right order and quantities; the mixture has to be stirred exactly the right amount of times, first clockwise, then counter-clockwise; the heat of the flames in which it's simmer has to be lowers to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes, before the final ingredient can be added.

"A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion," Snape calls, with ten minutes left to go.

I wipe sweat off my brow, before looking at Hermione's potion, knowing that it's exactly how it should be. Hers, as Snape said it should be, is emitting a light silver vapour. I look back at my own potion, and with a feeling of slight disappointment, note that, despite the caution I'd exercised, the vapour coming from my potion is darker than hers.

 _It's not too bad,_ a voice in my head points out.  _In fact, it's not bad at all. It's only a shade darker than Hermione's, if that._

Before I can reassure myself with this thought, however, another voice in my head says.  _But precision is everything. Especially with a teacher like Snape._

I'm just a ray of sunshine today.

I decide to shrug it off, however, because once something is done with this potion, it's irreversible, and I don't have nearly enough time to start over, with only seven minutes on the clock. In any case, it's really not that bad at all. In fact, I think I've done quite nicely.

With that mostly positive thought in my mind, I hurry to add the finishing touches to the potion, reading over the instructions thrice before performing them, not wanting to mess up anymore.

Snape looks at Hermione's cauldron and makes no comment, clearly meaning he has nothing to criticize. I feel a rush of pride for Hermione.

He stops at my cauldron, looks at the potion, and with a smirk, says, "The vapour on your potion is looking a  _touch_ too dark, don't you think, Knight?"

I roll my eyes and resist the urge to talk back. He's acting as if it's black as opposed to silver.

"You do understand that this could be the difference between peace and something very close to death for the drinker?"

"Yes," I mumble, getting more annoyed by the second. When he's silent, looking at me expectantly, I add, hatred clear in my voice, " _Sir._ "

"In that case, I'd suggest you start paying more attention, Knight," Snape says softly. Especially if you wish to stay in my class."

With that, he goes to look at Harry's cauldron.

 _Prick_ , both voices in my head say.

"Potter, what's this supposed to be?" Snape asks Harry, a horrible smirk on his face.

The Slytherins in the room look around eagerly; they all love seeing Snape taunt Harry.

"The Draught of Peace," Harry replies tensely.

"Tell me, Potter," Snape says softly, "can you rad?"

Draco Malfoy laughs, and I give him the filthiest look I can muster.

"Yes, I can," Harry says.

"Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter,"

Harry squints at the blackboard, before saying, "Add powdered moonstone, stir three time counter-clockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes then add two drops of syrup of hellebore."

"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"

"No," Harry answers very quietly.

"I beg your pardon?" Snape says. The fucking git, he heard Harry perfectly.

"No," Harry repeats, louder. "I forgot the hellebore."

"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly useless.  _Evanesco_."

The contents of Harry's cauldrons vanish.

"Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing," Snape continues. "Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion making, to be handled in on Thursday."

I fill a flagon with my potion, cursing Snape in my head as I do. Harry's wasn't nearly as bad as most people's, but no, Snape chooses him specifically to bully. After labelling my flagon, I put it on Snape's desk without looking at him, knowing I'll say something impulsive if I do.

When the bell rings, Harry's the first person out of the dungeon, and Harry's already in the Great Hall and starting on his lunch by the time Harry, Ron, and I catch up with him.

"That was really unfair," Hermione says consolingly, sitting down next to Harry and helping herself to Shepard's pie. "Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's; when he went to put his in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire."

"Yeah, well," Harry says, glowering at his plate. "Since when has Snape ever been fair to me?"

None of us can argue with that. Hermione and Ron start up their usual argument about Snape; Hermione thinks he's innocent - at least, no guilty of being in league with Voldemort - while Ron thinks he's guilty.

"Oh, shut up, both of you," Harry says heavily after a moment. They both whip around to look at him, looking angry and offended. "Can you give it a rest? You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad."

Without another word, he abandons his food, swings his bag over his shoulder, and walks out of the Great Hall. His departure brings a heavy silence between the three of us for a while, occasionally poking at our food and taking a small bite.

 _At least they're not arguing,_ I point out.

"Why has he always got to do that?" Hermione says after a while, annoyed.

"Do what?" Ron asks, though we all know what Hermione means.

"Take his anger out on us like that!" she elaborates. "We haven't done anything to him! I know things are getting worse and worse, but it's not our faults! We're on his side here! We always have been!"

I look at the direction he'd left, shaking my head. "We can talk to him," I say, looking at Ron. "During Divination. Nothing serious, just a little reminder that it's not our fault everything's going to shit, and we're on his side through everything."

Ron nods in approval at the idea.

"But I don't think it's going to be that simple," Hermione says worriedly.

"Of course it won't," I say, shrugging, turning to look at her. "But what else can we do? We can't force him to not take his anger out on us all the time, but we can give him a little push, can't we?"

"She's got a point," Ron says. "Besides, he's going to come around sooner or later."

"Let's just hope for sooner," I say, nodding.

None of us really wanting to eat any more, and classes starting up again soon anyway, we go our separate ways at the Entrance Hall, Hermione heading for Arithmancy, Ron and I for Divination.

"Ron, why did I ever drop  _Arithmancy_ and keep  _Divination_ , of all subjects?" I say, for what must be the millionth time since fourth year.

"I don't think you were really thinking," Ron tells me seriously, though a smile is on his face.

"Oh, I  _know_ I wasn't," I assure him matter-of-factly.

When we start approaching the trapdoor, I start to discuss tactics.

"All right, you ought to tell him that you and Hermione stopped arguing after he left, because that's what got his wand in a knot, to begin with," I say in a business like tone. "Well, it's part of it, anyway."

"Right," Ron nods. "And I can bring up what Hermione said about him taking his anger out on us, and then that can lead into it..."

"Yeah, good idea," I tell him approvingly. "And then he'll probably say that he isn't or something, and you'll say you agree with Hermione, and then I'll back you up."

"Why can't  _I_ just back  _you_ up?" Ron asks.

" _Because,_ " I begin, "you're the one who's passing along the message, so it'd make sense for you to just say it as an offhand comment, and then I can help you out."

"Fair enough," Ron says, as we reach the trapdoor.

He climbs up the ladder and emerges through the trapdoor, and I follow shortly after. We look around for Harry, and once we find him at a table in the shadows, we walk towards him, making our way around tables and chairs, and overstuffed pouffes.

"Hermione and me have stopped arguing," Ron says as a greeting.

"Good," is all Harry says.

"But Hermione says that she thinks it'd be nice if you stopped taking your anger out on us," Ron adds.

"I'm not-" Harry begins to protests, as I predicted.

"I'm just passing on the message," Ron says, talking over him. "But I reckon she's right. The way Snape and Seamus treated you isn't our fault."

"I never said it was-" Harry says.

"Then it'd be nice if you acted like it," I say matter-of-factly.

"Look, I never-" Harry begins, but is cut off by Professor Trelawney.

"Good day," she says in her misty voice. "And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely - as, of course, I knew you would."

_Of course._

"You will find on the tables before you copies of  _The Dream Oracle_ , by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very well be tested in your OWL. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the art of Divination. If you have the Seeing Eyes, examinations and grades matter very little. However, the Headmaster likes you to sit through examinations, so..."

She trails off delicately, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that she sees Divination to be above matters as mundane as exams.

"How much do you wanna bet she failed her Divination exams?" I whisper, and Harry and Ron grin.

"Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then, divide into pairs. Use  _The Dream Oracle_ to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on."

The only good thing about this class is that it's not a double period, meaning that by the time any of us are finished reading the introduction, there's only ten minutes left of class, very little time to interpret dreams. And, as it turns out, after we've broken into partners, most of it is spent trying to remember any dreams we've had recently.

"You know my memory's rubbish, Hazel, you go," Neville insists.

I can't exactly argue with that one, knowing it's completely true, so I scrunch my face up in effort to remember a dream I'd had recently.

"Uh, one time I had a dream where I could fly- like, without a broom, or anything - so I went and flew away to this really small island - or was it a desert? - and - uh - I don't really remember what happened after that..." I trail off uncertainly, before shrugging and saying, "what d'you reckon that means, then?"

"No idea, maybe that you've got six months to live, or something," he says, flicking through the pages of  _The Dream Oracle_ aimlessly, causing me to laugh.

That's about as far as we can get, before class is over, and Trelawney assigns, much to my displeasure, a dream diary that we need to write in for a month. Ron grumbles loudly as Harry leads the way across the room and to the trapdoor.

"Do you know how much homework we've got already?" he says. "Binns set us a foot-and-a-half long essay on giant wars. Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstone, and now Trelawney has us keeping track of this dream diary for a month! Fred and George weren't lying about OWL year, were they? That Umbridge woman better not give us any."

When we enter the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, we find Umbridge already seated at her desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan from the night before and a black velvet bow. The class is quiet as everyone enters the room, as nobody knows that Umbridge is like as a teacher, and therefore it's unknown just how strict she is.

"Well, good afternoon!" she greets, when the entire class has taken their seats.

Some students grumble an apathetic "good afternoon" in reply.

"Tut, tut, now that won't do, will it?" Umbridge says, and once again, we're being spoken to like we're five years-old. "I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," the class chants back at her, and Ron and I exchange irritated looks while doing so.

"There, now," Umbridge says sweetly, and I get the urge to punch her in the face. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Now, wands away and quills out, please."

Many students exchange gloomy looks at those words; the words "wand away" is never followed by an interesting lesson, and this time isn't likely to be any different. Umbridge opens her handbag, takes out her own wand, which is unusually short, and taps the blackboard sharply with it; words appear on the board at once:

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: A Return to Basic Principles_

"Now, you're teaching of this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" Umbridge states, turning around to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, none of whom seem to have followed a Ministry approved curriculum, unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see you in your OWL year. You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems will soon be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She tapped the board with her wand again. The first message disappears, replaced with a new one:

_Course aims:_

_1\. Understand the principles underlying defensive magic_

_2\. Learning to understand situations in which defensive magic can be legally used._

_3\. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use_

When I finish copying down the list, I read it over, and notice that none of the course aims say anything about using defensive spells. My brow furrows, and I look from the notes, to the blackboard, to Umbridge, and back again, frowning.

Once everyone is finished, Umbridge says. "Has everybody got a copy of  _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There's a dull murmur of assent.

"I think we'll try that again," Umbridge says. "When I ask a question, you either reply with, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge', or 'No, Professor Umbridge'. So: has everyone got a copy of  _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," the class says.

"Good," Umbridge says approvingly. "I should like you to turn to page five and read 'Chapter One, Basics for Beginners'. There will be no need to talk."

Umbridge sits back down at her desk, watching the class with her pouchy, toadlike eyes. Ron and I exchange looks once more, before turning to page five and beginning to read. It's desperately dull, and it's extremely difficult to not fall right asleep. More than once, I find myself reading the same line ten times, yet still not taking it in. Desperate to take even the shortest break from reading the chapter, I look around the room to find that, much to surprise, Hermione hasn't even opened her copy. Instead, she's looking determinedly at Umbridge with her hand in the air.

I immediately know that it must be serious, because I can't remember a time Hermione ever neglected to read when instructed to, or even simply resist to open a book when it's right under her nose.

I stare at her enquiringly, but she shakes her head, indicating that as of right now, she's going to be asking questions as opposed to answering them, continuing to stare at Umbridge, who's looking just as resolutely in another direction. After several minutes of this, more students are starting to watch Hermione, too; the chapter we've been instructed to read is so boring that it seems like most of us would rather watch Hermione mutely trying to get Umbridge's attention than struggle through it.

When more than half the class is studying Hermione as opposed to their books, Umbridge seems to decide that the situation can't be ignored for any longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" Umbridge asks Hermione, as though she'd only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," Hermione replies, finally putting her hand down.

"Well, we're reading just now," Umbridge says, showing her little pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of the class."

"I have a query about your course aims," Hermione says.

Umbridge raises her eyebrows.

"And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger," Hermione replies promptly.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think our course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," Umbridge says in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," Hermione says bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

There's a short silence, as students look back at the course aims still on the blackboard.

"Using defensive spells?" Umbridge repeats with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation in my class that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked in my class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron says loudly.

"Students raise their hands if they wish to speak in my class, Mr-?"

"Weasley," Ron says, thrusting his hand in the air.

Umbridge smiles sweetly at him, before turning his back on him. Harry, Hermione, and I exchange looks, before immediately raising our hands. Her gaze lingers on Harry, before nodding at Hermione.

"Miss Granger? Did you want to ask something else?" she prompts.

"Yes. Surely the entire point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to prepare ourselves against what's out there by practising defensive spells?" she says, putting her hand down.

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" Umbridge asks in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but-"

"Then I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'entire point' of any subject is. Wizards much older and clever than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-"

"What's the point of that?" Harry says loudly. "If we're going to be attacked, it's not going to be in a-"

"Hand, Mr. Potter!" sings Umbridge.

Harry thrusts his hand in the air, but Umbridge simply ignores him, as well. At this point, several other people have their hands up, as well.

"And your name is?" Umbridge says to Dean.

"Dean Thomas," he says, putting his hand down. "And it's like Harry said, isn't it? If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free."

"I repeat," Umbridge says, smiling at Dean in a very irritating way, "do you expect to be attacked in my class?"

"No, but-"

Umbridge talks over him, saying, with an unconvincing smile on her face, "I do not wish the criticize the way things have been run in this school, but you have been exposed to be very irresponsible wizards in this class, very responsible indeed - not to mention," she lets out a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."

Anger so great swells inside me to the point where I can no longer hold back. Surprised that I still have the self control to at least do this, I thrust my hand in the air, anger so evident in my expression that she can't ignore me.

"Yes, Miss Knight-?" she says, clearly remembering my name from the trial, and she's barely able to address me before I've gone off on her.

"If you mean R- Professor Lupin," I say, stuttering in my anger, "he was the best teacher we've ever had, and-"

"His kind is unfit to teach students, especially as young as you are," she interrupts me, and I'm dangerously close to hitting her. "And it'd do you good if you were to be more in control of your temper, Miss Knight. As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you're likely to run into Dark attacks every other day-"

"No, we haven't!" I say, now unable to hold my tongue once I've stared. "We just-"

I put my hand up, and Umbridge turns away from me.

"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them  _on_ you."

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" Dean says hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads."

"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" Umbridge trills. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more sufficient to get you through your examination, which is, after all, what school is all about."

Parvati Patil's hand shoots up in the air.

"And your name is?" Umbridge asks of Parvati.

"Parvati Patil," she replies, "and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show we can actually  _do_ all the counter curses and stuff?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there should be no reason why you would not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," Umbridge says dismissively.

"Without every practising it beforehand?" Parvati asks incredulously. "Are you telling us the first time we're actually going to do the spells is during the exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough-"

"What good's theory in the real world?" Harry demands loudly, fist in the air.

Umbridge turns to look at him.

"This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world."

"So, we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There's nothing out there, Mr. Potter."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry says.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" Umbridge asks in a terribly honeyed voice.

She asked that question on purpose. She's looking for a reaction out of Harry, one specific answer. And he gives it to her without hesitation.

"Hmm, let's think..." Harry says in a mock thoughtful voice. "Maybe... Lord Voldemort!"

Ron gasps; Lavender lets out a little scream; Neville slips sideways off his stool. I whip around to look at Harry, before looking back at Umbridge, who hadn't even flinched at Harry's reply. Her expression confirms my theory; she has a grimly satisfied look on her face.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."

The classroom is now silent and still. Everyone is either looking at Harry or Umbridge.

"Now let me make a few things quite plain," the latter says, standing up and leaning towards the class. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead-"

"He wasn't dead," Harry cuts in angrily, "but yeah, he has returned."

"Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," Umbridge says in one breath, not looking at Harry. "As I was saying, you have been told that a certain Dark wizard is at large again. This is a lie."

"It's NOT a lie!" Harry says furiously.

"I saw him, I fought him!"

"Harry, shut up," I hiss.

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" Umbridge says triumphantly. "Tomorrow. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners'."

Umbridge sits down behind her desk. Harry, on the other hand, stands up. Everyone is staring at him now. Seamus looks half scared, half fascinated.

"Harry, no!" Hermione whispers in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerks his arm out of reach.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory just dropped dead of his own accord," Harry asks, his voice shaking.

I wince slightly at the mention of Cedric. There's a collective intake of breath around the room, for nobody apart from Ron, Hermione, and I have ever heard Harry talk about the night Cedric had died.

"Harry, please, no!" I whisper, but he ignores me.

The class stares avidly from Harry to Umbridge, who has raised her eyes and is staring at Harry without any trace of a fake smile.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she says coldly.

"It was murder," Harry says immediately. His body is not shaking along with his voice, understandably so; not only is he beyond angry, but he rarely talks about Cedric's death, let alone in front of thirty eagerly listening students and a teacher like Umbridge. "Voldemort killed him and you know it."

Umbridge's toadlike face is now quite blank. For a moment, I'm quite certain that she's going to scream at Harry. But then she says, in her most girlish, softest, sweetest voice, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."

And that's when I know he's really in for it.

Harry kicks his chair aside, strides around the table and up to Umbridge's desk. Umbridge pulls out a small pink roll of parchment, dips her quill into a bottle of ink, and begins writing. The room is deadly silent. After a minute or so, she finishes writing, rolling up the parchment, tapping it with her wand so that it seals.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," Umbridge says, holding the note out to him.

He takes it from her without a word, turns on his heel, and storms out of the room. He doesn't look back once, slamming the classroom door shut. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Now, if anyone else doesn't have any other comments," Umbridge says, still in that extremely girlish voice, "if you could please continue with your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners'."

No one else has any comments. We open our books again, and continue reading - or at least, looking like we're reading. It was hard enough focusing beforehand, but after all the events that had just occurred, even trying to read the chapter is impossible.

I cast a worried look at the door Harry had disappeared through, before exchanging significant looks with Ron and Hermione. I can tell we're all thinking the same thing.

This is going to be a long year.


	18. Fainting Fancies

**Ours**

**Chapter Eighteen: Fainting Fancies**

 

Ron, Hermione, and I find Harry right after the bell rings, and he grimly delivers news of a week of detention.

"A week? You're joking!" Ron says.

"All because I told the truth," Harry says angrily.

"Wait, that means you'll miss the Quidditch try-outs!" I say. "Angelina's gonna have a fit when she finds out."

"Tell me something I don't know," Harry says darkly.

News of Harry's shouting match with Umbridge seems to have travelled around the school quickly, even by Hogwarts standards, so that by the time we've sat down for dinner, everyone is talking about it.

"He says he saw Cedric Diggory murdered..."

"Reckons he duelled with You-Know-Who..."

"Who does he think he's kidding?"

It wouldn't be so bad if they had the courtesy to lower their voices to whispers. But they keep their voices loud, and some even have the nerve to point, so Harry hears it all.

"What I don't get" Harry says, setting down his fork and knife, as his hands are shaking too much to hold them steady, "is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them..."

Hermione and I exchange nervous glances.

"The thing is, Harry, I don't think they did," Hermione says grimly.

"Oh, let's get out of here," I say, slamming my own fork and knife down and looking around at some pointing sixth year Ravenclaws in disgust.

Hermione puts down her fork and knife down as well, and Ron looks longingly at his half-eaten apple pie, but follows suit. People stare at Harry all the way out of the Great Hall.

"What d'you mean, you're not sure if people believed Dumbledore?" Harry asks Hermione, when we've reached the first landing.

"Look, you don't understand what it was like after it happened," Hermione says quietly. "You arrived back in the middle of the lawn clutching Cedric's dead body... none of us saw what happened in the maze or beyond it... we just had Dumbledore's word that You-Know-Who had come back and killed Cedric and you had fought him."

"Which is the truth!" Harry says loudly.

"I know it is, so will you please stop biting my head off?" Hermione says a bit wearily. "It's just that before the truth could sink in, everyone went home for the summer, where everyone read articles about how you're a nutcase and Dumbledore's going senile!"

Rain pounds on the windowpane as we stride through the empty corridors to Gryffindor tower. My first day seems to have lasted a week, and running on less than two hours of sleep, I'd like nothing more than to go to sleep, but there's still a considerable amount of homework that needs to be completed before I can even think about going to bed.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," Hermione says before the Fat Lady can ask, and she swings forward to reveal the hole behind the portrait, and we climb through it and into the common room.

The common room is mostly empty, as most people are still at dinner. Crookshanks uncoils himself and trots up to meet us, purring loudly, and when we take our favourite armchairs by the fire, he leaps lightly up onto Hermione's lap and curls up there like a ginger, furry cushion. Running a hand through my hair and sighing, I look out the rain washed window thoughtfully, biting my lip.

"How can Dumbledore have let this happen?" Hermione cries suddenly, making Harry, Ron, and I jump. Crookshanks leaps off her lap, looking affronted. She pounds the arms of her chair in fury, so that bits of stuffing leak out of the holes. "How can he let that horrible woman teach us? And in our OWL year, too!"

"Well, it's not like he had a choice," I say fairly yet bitterly. "It's like Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job, they all think it's jinxed."

"Yes, but to employ someone who actually won't let us do magic! What's Dumbledore playing at?"

"And she wants us to spy for her," Ron adds darkly. "Remember when she told us to come to her if we heard something about You-Know-Who being back?"

"Of course she wants to spy on us, that's obvious, why else would Fudge have wanted her to come?" snaps Hermione.

"Don't start arguing again," Harry says wearing. "Can't we just... let's just do this homework, get it out of the way..."

We collect our schoolbags and returns back to our chairs. People are starting to return from dinner, several of them staring at Harry as they enter.

"Shall we do Snape's stuff first?" Ron suggests, dipping his quill into his ink bottle. "The properties... of moonstone... and its uses... in potion-making..." he mutters, writing the words across the top of his parchment as he says to them. "There," he underlines the title, before turning expectantly to Hermione. "So, what are the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making?"

But Hermione isn't focusing on her homework. She's looking across the common room, eyes narrowed, at Fred, George, and Lee who are standing in a corner with a knot of innocent-looking first years, all of whom are chewing on something they they had seemed to have taken out of a paper bag Fred is holding.

"No, I'm sorry, they've gone too far," Hermione says, standing up and looking furious. "Come on, Ron."

"I- what?" Ron says, clearly playing for time. "C'mon, Hermione, we can't tell them off for handing out sweets."

"You know very well that those are bits of Nosebleed Nougat - or - or Puking Pastilles or-"

"Fainting Fancies?" Harry suggests quietly.

One by one, as though hit in the head with an invisible mallet, the first years fall unconscious in their seats; some slide onto the floor, some simply slump in their seats, others hand from the arms of their chairs, tongues lolling out. Most people are laughing at the sight; Hermione, on the other hand, squares her shoulders and march directly to Fred and George, who're standing with clipboards and closely observing the unconscious first years.

Ron rises halfway out of his chair, staring at the scene, before muttering, "She's got it under control," and sinks as far back into his chair as his lanky frame permits. I watch the scene with an interested expression, with the funny feeling I'm going to gave a big fat 'I told you so' for Fred and George by the time this is over.

"That's enough!" Hermione says forcefully, causing Fred and George to look up in mild surprise.

"Yeah, you're right," George agrees, nodding, "this dosage is strong enough, isn't it?"

"I told you this morning, you can't test out your rubbish on students!"

"We're paying them!" Fred protests indignantly.

"I don't care, it could be dangerous!"

"Rubbish," Fred shakes his head.

"Calm down, Hermione, they're fine!" Lee says reassuringly, as he walks from first year to first year, inserting purple sweets into their open mouths.

"Yeah, look, they're coming round now," George adds.

A few first years are, indeed, stirring. Several of the first years look so confused to find themselves on the floor or dangling on the arms of their chairs, that I get the suspicion that Fred and George hadn't warned the first years about what the sweets did. My eyes narrow at this. I remember what George had told me the night before. _"_ _They know what they might be getting into..."_

 _You sure about that one, Weasley?_ I think bitterly to myself.

"Feel all right?" George says kindly to a small dark-haired girl lying at his feet.

"I - I think so," she replies shakily.

"Excellent," Fred says happily, but the next moment, Hermione has snatched both the clipboard and the bag of Fainting Fancies out of his hands.

"It is NOT excellent!"

"'Course it is, they're alive, aren't they?" Fred says angrily, and I roll my eyes at that comment.

"You can't do this, what if you made one of them really ill?"

"We're not going to make them ill, we've already tested them out on ourselves, we just need to make sure everyone reacts the same-"

"If you don't stop doing this, I'm going to-"

"Put us in detention?" Fred interrupts, in an I'd-like-to-see-you-try voice.

"Make us write lines?" George suggests, a smirk on his face.

Onlookers around the room are laughing, but Hermione takes no notice of them. Instead, she draws herself up to her full height; her eyes are narrowed and her bushy hair seems to cackle with electricity, and that's when I know that they're in for it, a smirk crossing my face at the realization.

"No," she says, her voice quivering with anger, "but I will write to your mother."

Her words have the desired effect.

"You wouldn't," George says in horror, taking a step back from her.

"Oh, yes, I would," Hermione says grimly. "I can't stop you from eating the stupid things yourselves, but you're not giving them to first years."

Fred and George look thunderstruck. It's very clear that Hermione's treat has hit far below the belt, and my smirk widens at the sight of their expressions. With one last threatening look, Hermione thrusts the clipboard and the bag of Fainting Fancies into Fred's arms, before stalking back to her armchair by the fire.

Ron is now so low that in his seat that his noise is level with his knees.

"Thank you for your support, Ron," Hermione says acidly.

"You did fine on your own," Ron mumbles.

I look over at Fred, George, and Lee, who are still standing in shock at Hermione's words. I catch their eye and give them a look that quite plainly says, "I told you so." They all send rude hand gestures my way, something that I just laugh at, before returning to my blank potions essay.

I make eye contact with Hermione, however, who looks furious that I'd laugh at anything they do at a time like this. I hold my hands up in mock surrender, raising an eyebrow.

"What? I'm on  _your_ side here!"

Hermione just rolls her eyes, before staring down at the blank parchment for a few seconds, then says edgily, "Oh, it's no good now. I can't concentrate. I'm going to bed."

She wrenches her bag open. I think it's to put her books away, but instead, she pulls out two misshapen woolly objects, placing them carefully on the table by the fireplace, and covers them up with a few balled-up bits of scrap parchment and a broken quill, before standing back to admire the effect.

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing?" says Ron, as though fearful for her sanity.

"They're hats for the house-elves," Hermione replies briskly, now stuffing books into her bag. "I did them over the summer. I'm a really slow knitter without magic, but now that I'm back at Hogwarts I can make a lot more of them."

"You're leaving hats out for the house-elves," Ron says slowly, "and covering them up with rubbish first?"

"Yes," Hermione replies, almost defiantly, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

"That's not on," says Ron angrily. "You're trying to trick them into picking up the hats. You're setting them free when they might not want to be."

"Of course they want to be free," Hermione says at once, though her face turns pink. "Don't you dare touch these hats, Ron!"

She turns on her heel and leaves. Ron waits until she's disappeared through the door of the girls' dormitories, before clearing the rubbish off the woolly hats.

"They should at least know what they're picking up," Ron says firmly. "Anyway..." he turns to me expectantly. "What are the properties of moonstone and what are its uses in potion-making?"

"What? Turning to me now that Hermione isn't here?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

"Well, obviously," Ron shrugs. "I thought it was decided in first year that out of the three of us,  _you're_ the smart one."

"I don't quite remember that," I say, a small smile on my face, though I guide Harry and Ron through the essay as best as I can, until they roll up their parchment, declaring that they give up and are going to bed, too.

"You know you're going to regret that in the morning, right?" I say.

"Probably," Ron shrugs, and with that, he and Harry head from the boys' dormitories.

I shake my head, determined to finish this and at least  _start_ the essay on giant wars. As I'm finishing up the Potions essay, my gaze sweeps around the common room to find that a lot of people have gone to bed. Wishing that I could join them, I sigh and finish up the last sentence to the essay, before dropping my quill and sighing once more, putting my head in my hands.

I'm very tempted to just fall asleep right there, but I snap out of it, shaking my head and getting a fresh piece of parchment, and getting my quill again. I'm unable to get much done other than the title, however, when Fred slides into the chair next to me.

"You seem tired," he says, as a greeting.

"Hello to you, too," I say, rather irritably.

"You should go to bed," Fred advises.

"Thanks for the words of wisdom, but I can't do that quite yet," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, don't you start," he says, now sounding annoyed.

"Start what?" I snap, dropping my quill and looking at him challengingly.

"Start risking sleep so you can finish homework you've got plenty of time to do," Fred replies.

"It's not that late, you know," I say, rolling my eyes. "And for the record, I'm as tired as I am because of you,"

"Really?"

"Really," I say firmly. "Because you had me up at three in the bloody morning, so that I got less than two hours of sleep."

I don't mention that had it not been for him, I probably wouldn't have had any sleep at all.

"You need to stop bringing that up," he says matter-of-factly. "It's in the past."

"It happened  _last night_!" I say in exasperation, though I have a small smile on my face.

"Yeah, that's a long time ago!" he insists.

"Fine, how about I bring up how I was totally right about Hermione," I say, a satisfied smirk on my face.

"Oh, don't you dare," he says.

"Then stop talking about my so-called unhealthy sleeping patterns!"

" _So-called_ ," he scoffs, but doesn't say anything else on the matter.

"You were right about one thing, though," I tell him, as I start on the essay on goblin wars.

"Just one thing?" he says disbelievingly.

"Yes," I say firmly, smirking.

"All right, what?" he asks.

"OWL year's a nightmare," I say, and finally put my quill down and roll the parchment up, before shoving my stuff in my bag and leaning back in my chair, sighing and closing my eyes. Five sentences is a good start, right?

"'Course I was. I wouldn't lie about that," he says seriously, and I can practically hear the smirk on his face. "And you've still got no clue. It's only your first day."

I let out a groan at that comment. "Don't remind me, I've already got a headache."

"Have you?" he asks, and the concern in his voice is evident. "D'you need to go the hospital wing?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I say, waving a hand absently, eyes still closed. "Nothing a good sleep won't solve, I bet."

"Go to sleep, then," Fred says simply. "You're not working anymore."

"Eager to get rid of me, are you?" I say, not wanting to admit that even with a headache, I'd much rather talk to Fred.

"Weeellll-" he begins teasingly.

"Oi!" I protest, hitting him, though I don't succeed much, due to the fact that my eyes are still closed.

"You know, that might've been a better hit if you opened your eyes," Fred points out.

I just shrug.

"You know, you really might as well go to bed," Fred insists. "You're practically asleep right now."

"No, I'm not, Weasley," I shake my head. "I'm just having a little rest. There's a difference."

He's quiet for a moment, before I can feel him moving, and I feel his lips on my temple. My heart flutters at the contact, and his lips continue moving down my face until he's giving little kisses to the corner of my mouth.

"Not that  _I've_ personally got a problem with it, Fred, but I'm not sure what people feel about the PDA being shown here," I say.

"What people? Almost everyone's left," he says, keeping his face close to mine, promptly resuming giving the corner of my mouth tiny kisses.

At this, I finally open my eyes. My eyes sweep around the common room to find that he's right; the common room is deserted except for a small group of third years on the other side of the common room, giving us glances every couple seconds.

"There are still some people," I point out.

"That's why I said almost, Knight," he replies, a small smile on his face.

"Still, they're looking at us," I say, lowering my voice. "So, tone it down, or-"

"Go somewhere more private? My pleasure," he says, standing up, taking my hand, and dragging me out the common room.

"Fred, this wasn't what I had in mine," I tell him, as he leads me through the corridors, holding onto my hand the entire time.

"It'll be fine, come on," he says, turning around and giving me a smile I can rarely say no to.

He leads me into a secret passageway, before resuming in giving me tiny kisses. I hold onto his shoulders, smiling at the contact, before moving my hands up to his hair and playing with it. One hand goes down to one of his hands, tracing shapes on the back of it, feeling sleepy, my heart about to explode with affection.

"You know, what I sometimes think you don't realize, Knight," he begins conversationally, in between kisses, "is that I'm absolutely mad for you."

My smile widens at those words, and I think about how he always seems to know how to get me to melt at his words.

"And what I sometimes think  _you_ don't realize, Weasley," I say, "is that no other person can make me feel quite like you do."

"Is that a good thing?" he asks, a smirk on his face as he looks me in the eyes.

"The best thing," I answer truthfully, before kissing him, wrapping my arms around his neck, while his wrap around my waist, and I can feel him smiling into the kiss, something that makes me feel indescribably happy.

As I go to bed later that evening, the feeling of Fred's little kisses on me is all I can think of, practically imprinted in my mind, a smile on my face as I lie in bed, and I reach up to touch the lips he had recently kissed as though this was the Yule Ball and the first time he had ever kissed me. Then again, every time he kisses me blows me away to the extent that it feels like it's the first time.

And even though I've got a headache, and I'm stressed and worried about countless things, I can't help but feel extremely giddy as I fall asleep.


	19. Homework

**Ours**

**Chapter Nineteen: Homework**

 

The next day is just as rainy and gloomy as the day before. Hagrid is still absent from the staff table.

"On the bright side, no Snape today," Ron points out bracingly.

Hermione lets out a yawn, looking tired yet pleased.

"What're you so happy about?" I ask, as we sit down.

"The hats have gone," she replies. "Seems like the house-elves do want to be free after all."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Ron says cuttingly. "They might not count as clothes. They look more like woolly bladders to me."

Hermione refuses to speak to him all throughout double Charms, where Flitwick spends the first fifteen minutes lecturing us about the importance of OWLs.

"What you must remember," little Professor Flitwick squeaks, "is that these examinations may influence your future for many years to come! If you have not given serious thought about your careers, now is the time do so. And in the meantime, I'm afraid, we will be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice!"

And he isn't lying. We spend the lesson revising Summoning Charms, which Flitwick says is bound to come up on our OWL, before giving us the most Charms homework we've ever received.

Hermione still isn't talking to Ron through Transfiguration, where McGonagall gives us the same, if not worse, treatment that Flitwick had.

"You cannot pass an OWL," McGonagall says grimly, "without serious application, practice, and study. I see no reason why everyone in this class should receive an OWL in this class as long as they put in the work." Neville makes a sad little disbelieving noise. "Yes, you, too, Longbottom. There's nothing wrong with your work except for a lock of confidence. So... today we are starting on Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which is usually not attempted until NEWT level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your OWL."

She's completely right; I'm usually very good in Transfiguration, even if I do struggle with it a fair bit, but by the end of the class, only Hermione has managed to make her snail disappear, earning her ten points for Gryffindor by McGonagall. She's the only one who isn't given homework; everyone else, on the other hand, is told to practice the spell overnight, prepared for a fresh start the following afternoon.

"Oh, God, that was awful," I groan, as Harry, Ron, and I head for the library instead of the Great Hall, opting to use our lunch break to get some homework finished. Hermione doesn't join us, still angry at Ron for his comment.

"At least you made some sort of difference on yours," Ron says, rather irritated, and I don't argue with him, because I did manage to get the shell of the snail to disappear; it was the rest of it that was the problem.

I spend the lunch period working on my essay on giant wars, while Harry and Ron look up the uses of moonstone in potion-making. I answer all of their questions, trying not to get annoyed by them, knowing that just because I've got a lot to do doesn't mean they haven't and that they don't deserve help. By the time we head down for Care of Magical Creatures, I have a funny feeling I'm going to be getting another headache.

The day has become cool and breezy, and as we walk down the sloping lawn to Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, I occasionally feel a raindrop on my face. Professor Grubbly-Plank stands waiting for the class ten yards from Hagrid's door, a long trestle table that's laden with twigs in front of her.

As Harry, Ron and I reach her, we hear a loud shout of laughter. We turn to the source of the noise and see Draco Malfoy striding towards us, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies. Clearly, he's just said something very funny, because Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson continue to snigger at what he'd said. Noting the way they keep shooting Harry glances, it's not hard to guess what the subject of Malfoy's joke had been.

"Everyone here?" Grubbly-Plank barks, as Slytherins and Gryffindors gather around. "Let's crack on, then. Who can tell me what these things are called?"

She indicates to the heap of twigs in front of her. Not to anybody's surprise, Hermione's hand shoots up in the air. Behind her, Malfoy does a bucktoothed imitation of Hermione jumping up and down in eagerness to answer the question. Parkinson gives a shriek of laughter that almost at once turns into an actual scream, due to the fact that the twigs on the table leap into the air and reveal to actually be tiny pixielike creatures that are made out of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand and a flat, barklike face with beetle-black eyes.

"Ooooh!" Parvati and Lavender say, annoying me more than it should. I'm willing to bet that had it been Hagrid showing us these creatures, it wouldn't have been nearly so interesting, for Hagrid has shown us creatures as interesting as these, and had never received a reaction like this. Sure, Flobberworms had been dull, but the Salamanders and Hippogriffs had been interesting, and the Blast-Ended Skrewts too much so.

"Kindly keep your voices down, girls!" Grubbly-Plank says sharply, scattering what looks to be a handful of brown rice among the creatures, who immediately fall upon the food. "So - anyone know the name of these creatures? Miss Granger?"

"Bowtruckles," Hermione answers. "They're Tree-Guardians, usually found in wand trees."

"Excellent. Five points to Gryffindor," Grubbly-Plank says. "Yes, these are Bowtruckles, and as Miss Granger rightly says, they're usually found in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?"

"Woodlice," Hermione replies, which explains why the brown rice is moving. "But fairy eggs if they can get them."

"Good girl, take another five points," Grubbly-Plank says. "So, whenever you need trees or wood from a tree in which a Bowtruckle lodges in, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will gouge at human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So, if you'd like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a Bowtruckle - I have enough for one between four - you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all the body-parts labelled by the end of the lesson."

The class surges forward to get a Bowtruckle and woodlice, but Harry circles around the back to Grubbly-Plank. I watch him curiously for a moment, before joining Ron in gathering some woodlice, while Hermione picks up a Bowtruckle. We walk some way away, before squatting on the grass and attempting to persuade the Bowtruckle to keep still long enough for us to draw it, when Harry joins us.

He crouches next to us and whispers, "Listen, I was talking to Grubbly-Plank and I asked her where Hagrid had gone. She didn't say, just like last year, but Malfoy came along and said 'Maybe he's found himself injured', so I told him 'Maybe you will, too, if you don't shut up', and he said, 'Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him, if you catch my drift'. Do you reckon he knows something?"

"Dumbledore would know if something happened to Hagrid," Hermione says at once. "It's just playing into Malfoy's hands to look worried; it tells him we don't know exactly what's going on. We've got to ignore him, Harry. Here, hold the Bowtruckle for a moment, just so I can draw its face."

"Yes," comes Malfoy's drawl from the group closest to us, "Father was talking about the Ministry just a couple days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry is really determined to crack down on the substandard teaching here. So even if the overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straight away."

"OUCH!"

Harry had been gripping on the Bowtruckle so hard that it almost snapped, and it had taken a great swipe at his hand in retaliation, leaving two long, deep cuts there. Harry drops it. Crabbe and Goyle, who'd already been laughing at Malfoy's comments, all but howl with laughter as I just barely manage to snatch it back.

When the bell echoes distantly across the grounds, we roll up our drawings, and I return the Bowtruckles, before following Harry, Ron, and Hermione into Herbology, Harry's finger wrapped around Hermione's handkerchief.

"If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time..." Harry says through gritted teeth.

"Harry, you can't go and pick fights with Malfoy now, he's a prefect, he'll make life really difficult for you..."

"Wow, I wonder what it's like to have a difficult life," Harry says sarcastically, and Ron and I laugh, while Hermione frowns.

Together, we traipsed across the vegetable patch, while the sky still appears to be making its mind about whether it wants to rain or not.

"I just Hagrid would hurry up and get back, that's all," Harry continues, as we reach the greenhouse. "And don't you say that Grubbly-Plank woman is a better teacher!" he adds to Hermione.

"I wasn't going to," Hermione says calmly.

"Because she'll never be as good as Hagrid," Harry adds firmly, and I admit to myself that I'd just experienced an excellent Care of Magical Creatures lesson and feel extremely annoyed by it.

The door to a greenhouse near us opens, and out spills a bunch of fourth years, including Ginny.

"Hi!" she greets brightly as she passes us.

A few seconds later, Luna walks out the door, a little behind the rest of the class, a bit of earth smudged on her nose and her hair tied in a knot on top of her head. When she sees Harry, her eyes seem to bulge in excitement and she hurries towards him. Many of our classmates turn curiously to watch.

Luna takes a deep breath, and says, without any form of greeting, "I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back and you fought him and escaped from him."

"Er - right," Harry says.

"You can laugh," Luna continues loudly, apparently under the impression that Lavender and Parvati are laughing at her words, as opposed to the fact that she's wearing what appears to be orange radishes as earrings, "but people used to believe that there was no such thing as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

"Well, they were right, weren't they?" Hermione says impatiently. "There is no such thing as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Luna gives her a withering look, before flouncing away, radishes swinging madly from her ears. At this point, Parvati and Lavender are not the only ones who are hooting with laughter.

"D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?" Harry asks Hermione as we enter the class.

"Oh, Harry, you could do better than her," Hermione says. "Ginny's told me about her, and apparently she'll only believe in things when there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs  _The Quibbler_."

"What's so bad about  _The Quibbler_?" I ask, frowning. "I mean, it seems kind of weird, since she was reading it upside down on the train, but..."

"Oh, it's this nutty old newspaper, full of all sorts of rubbish like Nargles and God knows what else," Hermione says, shaking her head.

Before I can ask what a Nargle is, Ernie Macmillan steps up to Harry.

"I want you to know, Potter," he begins in his loud, carrying voice, "that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred percent. My family has always stood behind Dumbledore, and so do I."

"Er - thanks, Ernie," Harry says, looking taken aback, but pleased.

I feel very pleased at Ernie's words, because it's nice to know that Harry doesn't just have support from those who had radishes hanging from their ears, if only because it wipes the smug look right off of Lavender Brown's face.

To nobody's surprise, Sprout starts the lesson off with lecturing us about OWLs. I wish teachers would stop doing this; I start getting a twisty, anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach when they do. The feeling gets worse when we're assigned yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Sprout's preferred type of fertilizer, we troop back up to the castle, not talking much. It had been another long day.

As we reach the Great Hall, an angry voice behind us calls, "Oi, Potter!"

"What now?" Harry asks wearily, and we turn to find Angelina. To say she looks furious is an understatement.

"I'll tell you what now," she says, marching right up to him and poking his sharply in the chest. "How come you've landed yourself a detention for five o'clock on Friday?"

"What?" Harry says. "Oh - Keeper tryouts!"

"Now he remembers!" she snarls. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to do tryouts with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone? Didn't I tell you I booked the pitch specially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!"

"I didn't decide anything!" Harry protests. "I got a detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who."

"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday," Angelina says fiercely, "and I don't care how you do it. Tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination, if you like, just make sure you're there!"

She turns on her heel and storms away.

"You know what?" Harry says to Ron, Hermione, and I as we sit down at the Gryffindor table. "I think we should check with Puddlemere United and see whether Oliver Wood has been killed during a training session, because Angelina seems to be channeling his spirit."

I remember when Fred and I talked about how we'd probably get a bit more of a break with Angelina and almost laugh.

_Maybe not..._

"What d'you reckon the odds are of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?" Ron asks skeptically.

"Less than zero," Harry replied glumly. "Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions, or something. I dunno..." He swallows a mouthful of potato, before continuing. "I hope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realize we're got to write three essays, practice Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?"

Ron and I let out a groan, and the former looks up at the ceiling.

" _And_ it looks like it's going to rain," he says.

"What's that got to do with homework?" inquires Hermione, eyebrows raised.

"Nothing," Ron replies at once, ears reddening.

At five minutes to five, Harry bids the three of us goodbye and heads for Umbridge's office. Once he's done eating, Ron hurries off, mumbling something I can't make out.

"Where're you going?" I call after him, but he's already nearly at the Entrance hall, and doesn't hear me.

Hermione and I give each other bemused looks, before we head up to Gryffindor tower, wondering what's up with Ron and what kind of punishment Umbridge might have in store for Harry. We're not sure exactly what it could be, but we can both agree that it's bound to be awful.

Once in the common room, we sit down around a table, and after not managing to spot Ron, begin working on our homework, not talking much unless verifying if we're doing something right. I finish my essay on goblin wars, a small smile of satisfaction on my face as I scribble down the last sentence. Afterwards, I finish up the Bowtruckle drawing, and that's when it starts to get late. Sighing, I scribble down some made-up dreams for Divination, before practicing Vanishing Spells for the rest of the night.

Both Harry and Ron haven't returned by the time Hermione and I go to bed, my head pounding just like I had predicted it would.

"What do you reckon was keeping up Harry like that?" I ask curiously. "What's Umbridge got him doing?"

"And where's Ron? Why'd he just disappear like that?" Hermione adds.

Not having any answers for any of the questions, we get ready for bed, before bidding each other goodnight and falling asleep.

 

***

 

The next morning, I don't get the chance to get a word in with Harry or Ron until Divination, where I immediately begin questioning them. I begin with Harry.

"How was Umbridge? What did she have you doing?" I ask.

"Um - lines," he says, after what I notice to be a moment of hesitation.

"Oh," I say, frowning slightly. "Well, that's not too bad. Hermione and I thought it'd be something awful, especially since she kept you do long... speaking of which, did she let you off for Friday?"

"No," Harry replies, and Ron lets out a groan.

"She's going to have a fit," Ron says, echoing my words from last night.

"By the way, where were you last night?" I ask, turning to him. "You never explained."

"Uh, I went on a walk," he replies, with the same moment of hesitation as Harry.

I give them both a suspicious look, but don't question them further.

It's another busy day, and I begin to accept that everyday is probably going to be this busy. I get still more homework in Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, and Ancient Runes, and I wonder if the teachers simply won't rest until I get stressed and a headache every day.

At dinner, Angelina tracks Harry down once more, and upon learning that Harry hasn't been let off for Friday, tells him that she's not impressed with his attitude and that players that want to stay on the team have to put their training before other commitments.

"I'm in detention!" Harry yells at her as she stalks away. "D'you think I'd rather be stuck with that old toad or playing Quidditch?"

"At least it's only lines," Hermione points out consolingly. "Not as if it's a dreadful punishment, really..."

Harry opens his mouth, before closing it and nodding. My eyes narrow at this, watching him carefully for a moment. When he looks in my direction, I quickly pass it off so that it looks like I wasn't watching him.

"I can't believe how much homework we've got," Ron says miserably.

"Well, why didn't you do any of it last night?" Hermione asks. "Where were you, anyway?"

"I was... I fancied a walk," Ron replies nervously.

After dinner, while Harry goes to detention and Ron mysteriously disappears once more, Hermione and I head back to the common room, only to immediately begin doing homework once more.

Fred, George, and Lee try to coax me into taking a break, but I shake my head.

"C'mon, Hazel, all you've been doing is homework," Lee insists.

"Because all I've been getting is homework," I retort.

"This is going to be like your third year, isn't it?" George asks, a stab of impatience.

"Oh, it's going to be worse," Fred says. "I can tell."

"Look, just because you lot are, like, set for life and have been for ages and therefore don't need OWLs or NEWTs, doesn't mean we all are," I say impatiently. When they look like they're ready to continue arguing, I add. "Look, on the weekend, all right? I'll do anything you want."

"Anything...?" Fred repeats, with a smirk. I roll my eyes.

"Fred, if it's not too much to ask, we'd all prefer it is you kept those types of desires to yourself," Lee says, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, I was just verifying!" Fred says defensively, raising his hands in the air.

"Yeah, well you can keep your _verifications_ to yourself, or wait until you're alone," George says, rolling his eyes.

They don't try to convince me anymore, and they soon leave, allowing Hermione and I to return to our work. I finish the set of questions on Vanishing Spells for Transfiguration, the explanation on the proper handling of Bowtruckles for Care of Magical Creatures, the rune transactions for Ancient Runes, and the counter-charm for Flitwick.

"You know what Fred and George said about people coming up faint during their OWL year?" I say to Hermione as we pack up and head for our dormitory. "I won't be surprised if that happens with us. And I won't be surprised if it's me it happens to."

 

***

 

Thursday passes in a blur of tiredness and wishing that the weekend would hurry up and arrive. I almost fall right asleep in class, something I never do except in History of Magic. Hermione pokes me sharply in the head with her quill, however, and saves me from what could've been really embarrassing, considering that now and then I've been told I talk in my sleep.

After dinner, Hermione and I again work on homework, and I do the homework for Herbology, Astronomy, and Divination, before going to bed, feeling as though I might collapse from exhaustion.

 _And Quidditch season hasn't even started yet,_ I think, and let out a groan, before turning over in bed and shutting my eyes tighter, as though to block out all the thoughts of how much more busy things are about to get.

 

***

 

On Friday, I continue on with my day with only two things as my motivation; one, that later on today I'll be flying and playing Quidditch for the first time in well over a year, and two, after today it'll finally be the weekend, and the first week of school will be over.

 _Which will only be replaced by about a million other weeks,_ a voice in my head points out, and I let out a groan at the thought. The day passes by at an unbearably slow pace, and when I arrive at dinner, I realize that I won't be able to get much homework done, due to the fact that tryouts starts at five - I'll only have time to bolt something down, before I go back to Gryffindor tower to change into my uniform and head down for the Quidditch pitch.

I take a few quick bites, before saying goodbye to Hermione, and hurrying upstairs to Gryffindor tower. Once there, I change into my uniform, and look at the clock. Four twenty-five.

I decide to use this time to scribble some more made-up dreams in the dream diary for Trelawney, until finally heading down to the Quidditch pitch at four forty-five, pleased that I'd at least gotten some work done.

"Hey, Hazel!" a voice behind me calls, and I turn to see Katie Bell, one of the Gryffindor Chasers, hurrying towards me. I stop and wait for her to catch up, before continuing to walk when she's level with me. "So, tryouts... what d'you think, then? Got a good feeling?"

"I've got no feeling, really, except for hope that whatever Keeper we get is good, because imagine Angelina's reaction if we get stuck with someone who's rubbish," I reply, as we walk down the marble staircase and across the Entrance Hall.

"Oh, I know. It's surprising, really, how... uptight she's being about it," Katie says, as we walk out the double doors and onto the grounds, taking a moment to decide the correct term for Angelina's behaviour. "I thought we'd be getting a bit more of a break than we did with Wood. Now... I'm not so sure."

"Maybe Wood himself wasn't so crazy after all," I concede. "Might just be an effect of becoming captain."

"Hopefully. I'd hate to think that Gryffindor was just so unlucky as to have two mental captains in a row." Katie says, and we're silent for a moment, before Katie adds, "You know, I've heard Andrew Clark is trying out for Keeper."

"The blonde haired bloke in your year?" I ask.

"The _attractive_ blonde haired bloke in my year," Katie corrects.

I roll my eyes at her comment, before saying, "I suppose he's all right. But is he any good at Quidditch is the real question."

"I haven't a clue," Katie shrugs. "But let's hope he is."

"Yeah, I'm sure you'll need something nice to look at when things are getting a bit frustrating during practices or a game or something."

"Not _just_ that," she insists. "Angelina said that we need someone who'll fit in really well with the team, and Andrew definitely would. You've talked to him, that boy can get along well with almost everyone."

I've only had around two conversations with him, but it is enough to know that there's a very good chance that he'd fit well with the team - that is, if he's any good.

We arrive at the Quidditch Pitch at that moment, and we scan the crowd of those trying out for Keeper.

"Ha, see, there he is!" Katie says, nodding.

I assume she's looking at Andrew Clark, but my attention isn't on him or anyone else except for one boy standing a little far off from the rest of the crowd. My eyes widen in shock.

"I'm going to ask him a couple questions, see if he's likely to be any good-" Katie says.

"Yeah, yeah, great, excellent idea," I say distractedly, my eyes still locked on the boy. "Hey, Katie, I'll talk to you later, all right? There's someone I want to talk to."

Katie doesn't have time to answer before I'm walked to the boy, directly to Ron.


	20. Keeper Tryouts

**Ours**

**Chapter Twenty: Keeper Tryouts**

 

"What are you doing here?" I ask of Ron. "Are you trying out for Keeper?"

"Well," he begins, but then seems to realize that there's no other explanation for his presence, "yes, fine, I am. It's what I've been doing all week, practicing for this. Go ahead and laugh, then."

I stare at him, blinking.

"Ron, I'm not laughing," I state, and he looks at me in slight surprise, as though just realizing this fact for himself. "I think it's brilliant that you're going out for Keeper!"

"Do you?" he asks, looking slightly taken aback.

"Yeah, I do. Why didn't you tell me, you prat?" I demand.

"Because I thought you'd take the mickey out of me," Ron replies.

"Who cares? I couldn't bloody helped you!" I insist. "I imagine you've been bewitching the Quaffle?"

"Well - yeah," he replies, and I shake my head.

"For God's sake, Ron, I'm a Chaser, I could've helped you!" I shake my head. "Well, I guess there's no use complaining about it now... I've never seen you play Keeper, now thinking about it, are you good?"

"I'm all right," he replies. "Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays. Of course, Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when they see me, they'd never think I'd actually try out for the team, and they haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since I became prefect."

At his words, we look around at Fred and George, who are looking intently at Ron, Beater bats in hand. Though they're not close enough to know for sure, I'm willing to bet that there are smirks on their faces.

"You know they don't mean it, but if you want them to stop, you're going to have to prove to them that you're _really_ good," I say matter-of-factly. "Slap the smug look right off of them."

"Right," Ron says, but he still looks nervous.

"But if you want, I can talk to them," I add.

He gives me a grateful look I take to be a yes. I give him a reassuring smile, before walking over to Fred and George. As I had guessed, they have smirks on their faces.

"Is that Ron-?" George begins.

"-trying out for Keeper?" Fred finishes.

"Yes, it is, and it'd be real nice if you didn't take the mickey out of him," I say. "It's hard enough to tryout, you know."

"Yes, we do, and we made it, and if we can, so can he," Fred insists.

"Yes, but you lot didn't have people as annoying as you two giving you grief," I point out.

"Oi! We are _not_ annoying," George protests.

"Then stop acting like you are," I retort, shrugging.

"All right, we'll lay off of him," Fred says.

"It's all I ask," I say triumphantly, and we can't get anymore of a word in, because Angelina blows a whistle, causing us all to fall silent and gather closer around her.

"All right," she begins in a businesslike tone. "When I call your name, you'll go up and Keep for fifteen minutes. Now, unfortunately, our Seeker couldn't be here today," she continues in an annoyed tone, "but we'll all play as though he is, clear? First person up is Amy Barnes."

A short blonde girl steps up, clutching her broom tightly in her hand and looking like she might be sick. The team mounts their brooms, and the girl follows suit. We all kick off into the air, and once Angelina blows her whistle, we begin playing.

Amy Barnes manages to hold up somewhat decently, but she still misses a considerable amount of shots, so when Angelina blows her whistle again, thanks Amy, and calls up the next person, I'm completely aware of the fact that, unless the others are completely terrible, she's not going to make the team.

Andrew Clark, to be blunt, does terribly. Katie manages to score twice in the first few seconds he's up, and he's very easy to trick, which I prove when I feint, pretending I'm about to shoot in the right hoop, before throwing the quaffle through the middle hoop, which he left completely open in his desire to block the right one.

"So much for Andrew Clark," I say to Katie as we wait for the next person, Fiona Edwards, to get herself ready.

"You can't have everything, I guess," Katie shrugs, before we begin playing, as Angelina has blown the whistle.

Fiona Edwards does a better job than Amy Barnes and Andrew Clark, though she still isn't very good; Liam Floyd is next, who's very good at flying, but is even better at almost catching the Quaffle, but having it skim past his fingertips, as it happens every single time; Vicky Frobisher is an excellent flyer, and also manages to save a good amount of shots - but she also has a bunch of other commitments, and blatantly said that if Quidditch interfered with Charms club, she'd pick Charms first; Geoffrey Hooper flies and Keeps well, too, but he's also very whiny, moaning and complaining about one thing or another, so he doesn't get along very well with the team.

"Ron Weasley!" Angelina calls finally, after blowing her whistle once again, looking as though she's not looking for a miracle.

I bite my lip nervously, my eyes flickering from Ron, who's kicked off into the air, to Angelina, to Fred and George.

 _Come on, Ron_ , I think, just a bit desperately.

Ron, as it turns out, does really well, but he isn't perfect; he missed his first shot, something Fred and George make fun of him for, and Ron looks so upset by this that he misses the second shot, something I don't fail to notice. I narrow my eyes slightly, before flying over to Fred and George.

"What did I tell you gits?" I hiss.

"Oh, come on, that was a really obvious shot he missed," Fred points out.

"Yeah, and he wouldn't have missed that last one if it hadn't been for you two," I snap, "so cut it out."

They leave Ron alone after that, and just like I had predicted, Ron catches most shots, except for a few times when he'd drift near the left hoop, leaving the two completely open, an opportunity that Angelina uses to shoot through the right hoop. Ron learns his lesson, though he turns red, and misses another shot due to his embarrassment.

Regardless of these things, he does well, and when Angelina blows her whistle and we all land, it's he who she announces has made the team. Ron looks shocked for a moment or so, and when he finally realizes what Angelina had told him, his face splits into a huge grin. I replicate it, before hugging him as people start arranging for a celebration.

"Well done, Ron, you were brilliant!" I exclaim. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you. I can't believe it," Ron says, his smile still more wide, as we walk across the pitch and back to the castle. "I didn't think I'd-"

But at that moment, a voice behind me calls, "Hazel!"

We turn around and find that Angelina is a little bit behind everyone else, beckoning me to her.

"Go on, then, go on to your party," I tell him with a grin. "I'll catch up with you."

He nods and hurries off, still smiling. I jog over to Angelina, before falling into step with her.

"Look, I know you're friends with Ron, and he's good, but he's not perfect," Angelina says bluntly. "Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better, but Hooper was a whiner, and Vicky had other commitments that she blatantly said she'd pick first, so... anyway, I'm sure Ron'll be find after a couple practices - in fact, we've got practice tomorrow at two o'clock. In the meantime, help Ron as much as you can, all right? Keep his confidence up, because I think that might be a problem, especially since when you're first joining a team, you're never quite sure if you're good enough..."

"I'll do what I can," I nod, and Angelina smiles in approval, and we continue up to the castle and to Gryffindor Tower, wanting to join in on the celebration.

When we enter the common room, people are already buzzing with noise, talking and laughing. Fred and George enter not too long after Angelina and I do, with food and drinks for everyone. I move over to Ron, pumpkin juice in hand, and we throw our arms around each other, grinning.

"Hey - where's Hermione? I want to tell her..." Ron says, and we look around the common room until we find her at a table in the corner of the common room, trying to work in spite of the noise.

We hurry over to her, and Ron says, "Hermione, I made the team! I've been made Keeper!"

"Really? Oh, Ron, that's great!" Hermione exclaims, clearly trying to look excited for Ron's sake, even though it's clear that she's exhausted.

We continue talking for a while, but it becomes clear to me that Hermione wants to be left along, so I say, "Hey, Ron, I think Dean and Seamus are looking for you."

"Oh, really? Okay," Ron says, and he turns to go looking for them.

Hermione gives me a grateful look, which I return with a smile, before walking over to Dean and Seamus, as well. We talk and laugh until I notice Harry coming in, a look of forced calm on his face. I frown at this, but follow Ron to meet him, pretending not to notice that Harry's delighted expression at Ron's announcement seems a bit forced.

"Where's Hermione gone?" Ron asks.

"She's over there," Fred replies, pointing over at the corner of the common room, and I turn to where he's pointing and find Hermione dozing at her table, her drink tipping precariously in her hand.

"Well, she looked pleased when I told her," Ron says, looking slightly put out.

"Let her sleep," George says hastily, and I notice several first years near him and Fred, all of them showing signs of recent nosebleeds. I give Fred and George an annoyed look, something that they pretend not to notice.

"Hey, Ron, come over here and see if Oliver's old robes fit you," Katie calls, "we can take off his name and put yours instead..."

As Ron moves away, Angelina strides up to Harry, giving him the same talk about Ron that she gave to me.

"Sorry I was so short with you earlier, by the way..." Angelina adds. "It's stressful, this managing lark, you know. I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes..."

With that, she moves away over to Katie. Harry and I, meanwhile, go to sit with Hermione, who wakes with a start.

"Oh, Harry, Hazel, it's just you... good about Ron, isn't it?" she says blearily. "I'm just so - so -so tired," she yawns. "I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!"

"Great," Harry says distractedly. "Listen, I was just up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm..."

He talks about how his scar had hurt when Umbridge touching him, just like how it often does when Voldemort is nearby or feeling particularly murderous.

"You're worried You-Know-Who's controlling her like he did Quirrell?" Hermione asks slowly, when Harry had finished.

"Well," Harry says, dropping his voice, "it's possible, isn't it?"

"I guess so," I concede, though I'm unconvinced. "But if he is, I don't think it's the same way he possessed Quirrell... I mean, he's got his own body now, what does he need to share someone else's for? He could have her under the Imperius Curse, though."

We're all silent for a while, watching Fred, George, and Lee juggle Butterbeer bottles, until Hermione says, "But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you, and didn't Dumbledore say it had to do with what You-Know-Who was feeling at the time? I mean, maybe this has nothing to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it's just a coincidence that it happened while you were with her?"

"She's evil," Harry says flatly. "Twisted."

"I know she's horrible, but not everyone needs to be in league with Voldemort to be so... but I do think you should tell Dumbledore your scar hurt," I say.

"I'm not bothering him with this," Harry says immediately. "Like you just said, it's not a big deal. It's been on and off all summer - it was just a bit worse, that's all."

"Harry, I'm sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this-" Hermione begins.

"Yeah," Harry says, "because that's the only bit about me that Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?"

"That's not true, Harry," I protest.

"I think I'll write to Sirius about it, see what he thinks-"

"Harry, you can't put something like that in a letter," Hermione says, alarmed. "Don't you remember, Moody said to be careful about what we put in writing! We can't just guarantee that owls aren't being intercepted anymore!"

"All right, all right, I won't tell him, then," Harry says irritably, getting to his feet. "I'm going to bed, tell Ron for me, will you?"

"Oh, no," Hermione says, looking relieved. "If you're going to bed, that means I can without looking rude. I'm absolutely exhausted and I want to make more hats tomorrow."

Harry and Hermione look at me expectantly, and after a moment, I let out a sigh, knowing what they're silently asking of me.

"I'll let Ron know," I say.

"Thanks, Hazel. Listen, you two can help me with the hats, it's getting quite fun, I'm getting a lot better at it. I can make patterns and bobbles and sorts of things now."

Harry and I exchange nervous looks, neither of us wanting to knit any hats.

"Er - no thanks, I don't think I will," Harry says. "Not tomorrow - loads of homework..."

And he walks over to the boys' dormitories, leaving Hermione looking disappointed.

"Uh, same, I've got loads of homework," I say. "Didn't get to get any done today with tryouts, and everything. Maybe another time, though."

"All right," Hermione says, now looking fairly put out. "Goodnight, Hazel."

"Goodnight," I say, and she walks over to the girls' dormitories.

I walk over to Fred, George, and Lee joining the crowd of those watching them juggling Butterbeer bottles. Fred glances over at me, winking, as though wanting to impress me, and shortly after this, drops all of the bottles he was juggling.

"Impressive," I say, with a smirk.

"I did that on purpose," he protests, putting an arm around me and watching George and Lee continue to juggle, clearly trying to play it cool. "My arms were getting tired."

"Right," I say, rolling my eyes and smiling.

"Hey, where did Harry and Hermione go?" Ron asks of me.

"Um, they went to bed," I say hesitantly, and noticing Ron's disappointed expression, quickly add, "They're both very happy for you, it's just that they're both exhausted. Hermione stayed up until, like, one o'clock making those hats for the house-elves, and Harry - well, he had detention with that old hag, can you blame him for being tired?"

"Yeah - yeah, good point," Ron says distractedly, though he still looks upset.

After that, even though I really am tired, I don't go to bed, not wanting to add to Ron's disappointment. I remain as the last few people, only going to bed when Ron does. I congratulation him once more, before hurrying up to my dormitory.

I'm barely able to change into pajamas, before I collapse into bed, falling asleep immediately.


	21. Quidditch Practices and Shoulder Massages

**Ours**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Quidditch Practices and Shoulder Massages**

 

I wake before anyone else in my dormitory the next morning, my eyes fluttering open and staring blearily up at the blank canvas of my four-poster. I roll over, contemplating if it's worth getting out of bed or if I should just continue to sleep. Then I remember the homework that needs to be completed, not to mention the Quidditch practice at two o'clock, and the fact that Fred, George, and Lee will probably want to go off and prank, or something, since I promised I would over the weekend. Sighing slightly, I open the curtains of my four poster and stumble out to get dressed, trying to keep quiet for the sake of those still asleep.

Once dressed, I look at the clock, and find that breakfast won't be for a while. I look around the room, wondering why I've woken up so early, along with trying to decide on what to do. My gaze lands on my schoolbag and lingers there. Though homework is the last thing I want to do, especially on a Saturday. I know it's best to get it out of the way, so, sighing, I walk over to my bag, and get started on my homework.

I work until Hermione wakes, who does a double take when she sees me.

"You know, it's always a breath of fresh air when you wake up before me," she informs me matter-of-factly as she gets ready. "It saves me _so_ much trouble."

"Shut up," I say vaguely, though I'm grinning.

As she's nearly finished getting ready, I start to scribble down random dreams for the dream diary for Divination, even writing down dreams for the next week.

"I reckon I should take Trelawney's place," I state, as I finish recording the dream I'm apparently going to have next Saturday, "considering the fact that I'm interpreting dreams before they even happen."

"It's really not good to have such an attitude with homework, you know," Hermione informs me.

I look up from the dream diary, staring at Hermione's back in utter disbelief. She seems to notice that I've gone silent, and turns to face me, frowning at my shocked expression.

"What?"

"Says the person who left Divination in the middle of the bloody lesson!" I say. "Besides, it's not like you tried very hard when you _were_ in it."

"Fair enough," she grins, and at this point, she's finished getting ready, so I put my school stuff away and follow her out of the dormitory and into the common room, where we meet Ron; together, we head for the Great Hall.

"Hey, where's Harry?" I ask Ron.

"Dunno, he was gone when I woke up," Ron shrugs.

Harry isn't at the Great Hall when we arrive, but he does turn up soon after we do, looking elated.

"Morning," he greets brightly, as he sits down beside us.

"What are you so happy about?" Ron asks, eyeing Harry in surprise.

"Erm... Quidditch later," says Harry happily, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs towards him.

"Oh... yeah..." Ron says nervously. "Listen... you two don't fancy going out a bit earlier, do you? Just to - er - give me some more practice before training? So, I can, you know, get my eye in a bit."

"Yeah, okay," Harry replies, while I hesitate for a moment.

I want to get more homework done, but at the same time, I can tell that Ron really wants a bit of extra help. However, I have gotten some done this morning... and as long as I get the rest of it done right after dinner...

"Sure," I say finally.

"Look, I don't think you should," Hermione says, more to Harry and Ron than me. "You're both really behind on homework as it is-"

But she breaks off, because the owls are rushing in for the post, and, as usual, a screech owl delivers Hermione her copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , sticking out its leg after landing perilously close to the sugar bowl. Hermione takes the newspaper, gives the owls a Knut, and scans the front page as the owl takes off.

"Anything interesting?" Ron asks immediately, and I grin, knowing he wants to take the subject off homework.

"No," she sighs, "just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married."

"Ginny'll be heartbroken," I say vaguely. "The bass player's her favourite."

Hermione opens the paper and disappears behind it. Harry and I continue eating, and Ron stares at the high windows, looking preoccupied.

"Wait a minute," Hermione says suddenly. "Oh, no... Sirius!"

"What's happened?" Harry asks, grabbing at the newspaper so violently that it tears in the middle, Harry and Hermione each holding one half.

"The Ministry of Magic has receive a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer... blah blah blah... is currently hiding in London!" Hermione reads off of her half of the newspaper in anguished whisper.

"Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything," Harry says furiously, and anger at the injustice of all that's happened to Sirius wells up inside of me. "He _did_ recognize Sirius on the platform..."

I remember Malfoy's seemingly random choice of words on the train. _I'll be_ dogging _your footsteps..._

"What?" Ron says, looking alarmed. "You didn't say-"

But Harry and Hermione shush him, before the latter continues to read.

"... 'Ministry warns wizarding community that Black is very dangerous... killed thirteen people... broke out of Azkaban...' the usual rubbish," Hermione finishes, laying down her newspaper and looking fearfully at the three of us. "Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all. Dumbledore did warn him not to."

Harry looks down glumly at his half of the _Daily Prophet_ \- until, that is, he seems to spot something interesting.

"Hey!" he says suddenly, flattening it down so Ron, Hermione and I can read it. "Look at this!"

I follow where he's pointing and find an ad for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which is clearly having a huge sale. I look from the ad to him, blinking.

"I've got all the robes I need," Ron says, clearly as lost as I am.

"No, look at this little piece here..." Harry says.

Ron, Hermione, and I bend closer to read it. It's an article that's barely an inch long and placed right at the bottom of a column. It's headlined:

_TRESPASS AT MINISTRY_

_Sturgis Podmore, 38, of Number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on August 31. Podmore was arrested by the Ministry of Magic watch-wizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defence, was convinced on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban._

"Sturgis Podmore," Ron says slowly. "He's the one whose head looks like it's been thatched, isn't he? He's part of the Order-"

"Ron, shh!" Hermione hisses, casting a terrified look around us.

"Six months in Azkaban!" Harry whispers, horrified. "Just for trying to get through a door!"

"Don't be silly, it obviously wasn't just for trying to get through a door. What on earth was he doing in the Ministry of Magic at one o'clock in the morning?" Hermione breathes.

"D'you think he was doing something for the Order?" Ron says.

"Wait a minute," Harry says slowly. "Sturgis Podmore was supposed to come and see us off, remember?"

Ron, Hermione, and I stare at him blankly.

"Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King's Cross, remember? And Moody was all annoyed because he didn't turn up, so he couldn't have been on a job for them, could he?"

"Maybe they didn't expect for him to get caught," I point out.

"It could be a frame-up!" Ron says excitedly. "No - listen!" he continues, dropping his voice dramatically at the threatening look Hermione gives him. "The Ministry suspects that he's one of Dumbledore's lot, so they - I dunno - they lured him into the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him."

There's pause for a while as Harry, Hermione, and I consider Ron's theory. Though it does seem a bit far-fetched, what he said does make sense.

"You know what, Ron," I say finally, "with all the things the Ministry's been doing lately, I wouldn't be all that surprised if you were right."

Hermione folds up her half of the newspaper, looking thoughtful. As Harry puts down his knife and fork, she seems to come out of a reverie.

"Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout of self-fertilizing shrubs first, and if we're lucky we'll be able to start on McGonagall before lunch..."

With a pang of dread, I think of the homework still waiting to be completed, but Ron wants a bit of help, and if I'm honest, I do crave to be out in the air again...

"I mean, we can do it tonight," Ron points out, as he, Harry, and I walk down the slowing lawns to the Quidditch pitch, brooms over our shoulders and Hermione's dire warnings that we're all going to fail our OWL's ringing in our ears. "And we've got tomorrow, too. She gets too worked up about school, that's her trouble..." there's a pause, before Ron adds, nervously, "D'you think she meant it when she said we're not copying from her?"

"Yeah, I do," Harry replies. "But still, this is important, too, we have to practice if we want to stay on the team..."

"Yeah, we do," Ron says, seeming to relax a bit at Harry's words. "And we've still got plenty of time..."

I stay silent, biting my lip and trying not to think of all the work waiting for me to complete in my bag.

 _Right after practice_ , I remind myself sternly. _You're going to do it all right after practice..._

When we reach the Quidditch pitch, we collect the balls from the cupboard in the changing room and set to work, Ron guarding the three tall goalposts, while Harry and I play Chaser. Ron does better than he does last night, perhaps due to the fact that his nerves aren't so bad, because he now has the reassurance that he's on the team; he saves three quarters of the shots, and the longer we practice, the better he plays. After a couple of hours, we pack up and head for lunch, and though I don't regret helping Ron out in the slightest - or getting out to fly for a bit, for that matter - Sprout's essay is lingering in my mind, bringing my mood down considerably.

By the time we've reached the castle, I've made up my mind. Skipping one meal wouldn't hurt, would it? So as we reach the Entrance Hall, I bid Harry and Ron goodbye and hurry up the marble staircase.

"Where are you going?" Ron calls.

"I'm getting a bit of work done," I reply, not turning back as I continue to hurry up the steps. "Don't worry, I'll be at practice!"

Of course, I'm not going to be able to start and finish the essay during the lunch period, but that doesn't mean I can't make a good start on it. I reach the portrait of the Fat Lady, but I don't have to tell her the password, because at that moment, the portrait swings open to reveal Fred and George.

"Hey, you two!" I greet brightly but distractedly.

"Where are you going?" Fred asks, frowning slightly.

"Nowhere," I say, not quite sure of what they'd think of me skipping lunch.

"Doesn't look like you're going nowhere," George points out.

"Look, I just need to get something from my dormitory," I say.

"And then you're coming right down to lunch, are you?" Fred asks.

"Um - uh - yes," I say faintly.

"So, if we waited for you-" George begins.

"Oh, fine, then, you got me," I say, annoyed. "I'm skipping lunch to work on a bit of homework."

"Hazel, it's only the first week and you're doing this?" George says in exasperation.

"Look, I just want to get something done before practice, that way I have less to do when I get back," I explain.

"All right, but you see, the thing is, _you're skipping meals to do this_!" Fred exclaims. "When you're literally got the whole weekend."

Which, of course, is true, but it's also very true that Saturday seems to turn quickly into Sunday morning, and Sunday morning seems to transform into Sunday night in the blink of an eye.

"I can nick something from the kitchens any time and eat then," I shrug. "Besides, it's one lunch. I'll be fine."

"Hazel, this isn't good-" George begins.

"It's really unhealthy, and you don't always have to put homework first like this-" Fred continues.

"Look I'll be fine. Really," I insist, now getting impatient, because thought I don't admit it, they're really wasting quite a bit of time. "I'll see you at practice!" I add brightly, waving to them and crawling through the portrait hole before they can say anything.

"It's about time," the Fat Lady announces as I scramble through it. "I was getting tired of having to listen to your conversation and wait for you to go through."

Once in the almost empty common room, I sigh and hurry over to my dormitory, before starting on the Herbology essay. I manage to get two paragraphs done before one forty, and that's when I put my books away, grab my Nimbus 2001, and hurry down to the Quidditch pitch once more.

When I enter, Katie is already here. I smile and nod at her, before changing into my Quidditch robes.

"Anyone else here?" I ask her, fixing my slightly messy hair.

"Angelina's in there," Katie replies, cocking her head in the direction of the Captain's office.

Shortly after this, Fred and George enter, brooms over their shoulders. I grin and wave at them, a part of me hoping they're not too upset with me for skipping lunch.

"I hope you got a lot of work done, since you thought it was so important you had to skip lunch," Fred says to me.

"Shut up, I'm not even that hungry," I say, and at that exact moment, my stomach grumbles. I grin at him nervously. "Well, I mean, I might be a little bit, but-"

"We're going down to the kitchens after this, I hope you know," he informs me.

"Oh, I really can't, Fred, I've still got loads to do," I protest. Fred gives me a look, so I quickly add, "I'll be at dinner, though!"

"Well, I figured that much, because George and I were talking, and we agreed that if you planned on skipping we'd drag you down ourselves."

"You wouldn't," I say, frowning slightly, but I know very well they would.

"You shouldn't bet that," he says, a trace of a grin on his face, which I don't return. When he takes notice of this, he turns more serious again, "Just be at dinner, all right?"

"I said I would, didn't I?" I point out. "Honestly, Fred, stop worrying so much."

He lets out a laugh at that, since it's obvious that I'm the one that tends to worry more, before going to change. Shortly after, Harry and Ron enter, Ron looking slightly sick.

"All right, Ron?" George asks, winking.

"Yeah," Ron replies quietly.

"Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?" says Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a slightly malicious grin on his face.

"Shut up," Ron snaps, pulling on his robes for the first time, which fit him well, considering that Oliver has broader shoulders than Ron, and I give Fred a disapproving look, trying to ignore how attractive he is when his hair looks messy, and how much more satisfying it is when I've messed it up for him-

"What?" he asks, and I snap out of it.

"Do you two ever listen to me?" I demand of Fred and George, lowering my voice so Ron doesn't hear. "Why can't you just leave him alone?"

"How about this, we'll leave him alone when you stop skipping meals," George says.

I open my mouth to protest, but Angelina walks out of Captain's office and into the changing rooms, already changed.

"Okay, everyone, let's get to it; Fred and Hazel, could you two bring out the ball crate for us? Oh, and there are a couple people watching out there, but I just want you to ignore it, all right?"

Something in her would-be casual tone gives me a funny feeling about who these spectators might be. Fred and I go to carry the ball crate out.

"Who d'you think the people watching are, then?" he asks me in a low voice as we carry it out, but the look on his face tells me he has an idea, and it's the same idea as mine.

"Slytherins, who else?" I reply. "Probably wanted to get our spirits down before we even face them, and then adding the fact that Ron's the new Keeper... you're really going to have to lay off him, Fred, I mean it. You and George. It'll be bad enough with the Slytherins-"

"Don't worry, I know," Fred assures me.

Sure enough, when we leave the change room for the bright sunlight of the pitch, we're greeted by catcalls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and some assorted hanger-ons, who are grouped halfway up the stands and whose cries echo across the stadium.

"What's that Weasley's riding?" Malfoy calls in his sneering drawl. "Why would anyone put a flying charm on a moldy old log like that?"

Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson laugh at his comment, and Ron mounts his broom, and I follow, seeing his ears turn red. Harry and I exchange meaningful looks, before accelerating to catch up with Ron.

"Ignore them," Harry says, "we'll see who's laughing after we play them..."

"Exactly the attitude I want, Harry," Angelina says in approval, soaring around us with the Quaffle tucked under her arm, before slowing to a stop in order to hover around her now airborne team.

"In any case, if Malfoy thinks that's some great insult, he's losing his touch," I add. "I mean, he's never been great, but really, I haven't heard a comment that unoriginal since - well, since the last time he opened his mouth, probably."

"Okay, everyone, we're going to start with passes just to warm up, the whole team, please-"

"Hey, Johnson, what's with the hairstyle, anyway?" Parkinson shrieks. "Why would anyone want to look like they've got works coming out of their head?"

Angelina sweeps her long braided hair out of her face - which looks nothing like worms and looks much better than Parkinson's hair, if you ask me - and continues calmly, "Spread out, then, and let's see what we can do..."

I reverse away from the others to the far side of the pitch, ending up opposite to Angelina, who throws the Quaffle to Fred, who passes to George, who passes to Harry, who passes to me, and I pass to Ron, who drops it. The Slytherins roar and scream with laughter, while Ron pelts to catch the Quaffle before it hits the ground, pulls out of the dive untidily, so that he slips sideways on his broom, before returning to his normal playing height. Fred and George, I notice out of the corner of my eye, exchange looks but don't say anything, something that makes me feel very grateful.

"Pass it on, Ron," Angelina says, as though nothing happened.

Ron throws the Quaffle at me, and I throw it to George, who throws it to Harry...

"Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?" Malfoy calls. "Sure you don't need to lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?"

Katie passes to Angelina, who reverse-passes to Harry, who hadn't been expecting it, but manages to catch it, before passing to Ron, who lunges for it and misses it by several inches.

"Come on, Ron," Angelina says crossly, as Ron dives after the Quaffle once more. "Pay attention."

At this point, it's hard to tell whether Ron or the Quaffle is redder when he returns to playing height. Malfoy and the rest of the present Slytherins are howling with laughter.

On his third attempt, Ron catches the Quaffle, and apparently this excites him so much that he throws it so enthusiastically that it goes past Katie's outstretched hands and right into her face.

"Sorry," Ron groans, zooming forward to see if he had done any damage.

"Get back in position, she's fine!" Angelina barks. "But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've Bludgers for that!"

Katie's nose is now bleeding. Below, the Slytherins are stamping their feet and jeering, as though nothing is funnier than Katie with a nosebleed. Fred and George fly over to help Katie.

"Here, take this," Fred says, handing her something small and purple from his pocket, "it'll clear up in no time."

"All right," Angelina calls, "Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger. Ron, get up to the goalposts. Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously."

When Harry, Fred, and George return, Angelina blows the whistle, causing Harry to release the Snitch, and Fred and George to let the Bludger fly. Everyone plays remarkably well, except that Ron keeps drifting over in the direction of whatever Chaser has the Quaffle, which is how Angelina, Katie, and I let in the last three shots.

"Stop - stop - STOP!" Angelina screams, when Katie is about to let another shot in. "Ron - you're not covering your middle post!"

"Oh... sorry..."

"You keep shifting around while you're watching the Chasers!" Angelina continues. "Either stay in center position until you have to move to defend a hoop, or else circle the three hoops, but don't drift vaguely to the side, that's how you let in the last three shots!"

"Sorry," Ron repeats, his face shining red.

"And, Katie, can't you do anything about that nosebleed?"

"It's just getting worse!" Katie replies thickly, trying to stem the flow with her sleeve.

I look around at Fred, and find him looking anxious and checking his pockets. He pulls out something purple, examines it for a second, before looking back around at Katie, apparently horror-struck.

"Well, let's try again," Angelina says. She's continuing to ignore the Slytherins, who have now started a chant declaring that Gryffindors are losers, but she's starting to look fairly rigid as well.

This time, we've barely been flying for three minutes when Angelina's whistle sounds again.

"What not?" Harry asks impatiently.

I look around and spot exactly what now.

"Katie," I reply shortly.

Angelina, Fred, and George are all flying as fast as they can towards Katie, who is now chalk white and covered in blood. Harry and I exchange looks, before speeding towards her ourselves.

"She needs the hospital wing," Angelina says.

"We'll take her," Fred offers. "She - er - may have swallowed a Blood Blisterpod by mistake-"

"Well, there's no point in continuing with two Beaters and a Chaser gone," Angelina says glumly, as Fred and George zoom towards the castle, Kate between them. "Let's get changed, everyone."

The Slytherins continue their chanting as we enter the changing rooms.

"How was practice?" Hermione asks rather coolly half an hour later, as Harry, Ron, and I climb through the portrait hole and into the common room.

Harry and I exchange nervous looks.

"It was-" Harry begins.

"Completely lousy," Ron finishes for him in a hollow voice, sinking into a chair beside Hermione. The latter looks at Ron and her frost seems to melt.

"Well, it was only your first time," she says consolingly, "it's bound to take time to-"

"Who said it was me that was lousy?" Ron snaps.

"No one," Hermione says, taken aback. "I thought-"

"You thought I was bound to be rubbish?"

"Of course I didn't! Look, you said it was lousy, so I just thought-"

"I'm going to get started on some homework," Ron says angrily, before stomping over to the boys' dormitories and disappearing from sight.

Hermione looks from the door Ron had disappeared through, before turning to Harry and I.

"Was he lousy?"

"No," Harry and I reply loyally.

Hermione raises her eyebrows, and I let out a sigh.

"All right, well, he could've played better," I admit, "but it was only his first time, like you said..."

Though the last thing I want to do is more homework, that's what I do until dinner, and it's what I do after dinner, until I've finished every last bit of it, even if it gets hard to concentrate with the Slytherins chanting 'Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers...' still playing in my mind.

" _There_ ," I announce, putting down my quill and letting out a sigh. "Done."

Hermione gives me an approving look as I shove all my books into my bag and settle into my chair, sighing. She continues knitting hats until she goes to bed, bidding Harry and I goodnight. Shortly after, Harry closes his books with a snap and shoves his stuff into his bag.

"Couldn't concentrate," he says, shutting his bag, "but I don't want Hermione giving me dirty looks and calling me irresponsible, so..."

I grin at that.

"Thinking about that practice still, are you?" I ask, and when he nods, I turn a bit grim myself. "Yeah, so was I."

"Ron just needs a bit of time," Harry says determinedly. "I mean, he's already good - he was when we were practicing, at least."

"And while he's getting that time, let's hope the Slytherins lay off with their little songs," I say, nodding.

"They're only going to get worse," Harry says, "especially now that they know that he plays worse when he gets embarrassed."

"If only he was a bit more confident, then he'd be able to - Harry, what's that on your hand?" I demand sharply.

I stare at his right hand, which he has now hastily covered up, but I know when a person is trying to hide injuries, being someone who has done it several times, after living with the Martins for so long. I look at his hand to him, then back again, before reaching forward and pushing his sleeve up to reveal his hand. There, very faint but still visible, are te words 'I must not tell lies' carved on his hand.

I stare at the words in shock, but then I remember Umbridge's words on that very first lesson, hearing them plainly as though she's right behind us and repeating them for me. _You have been told that a certain Dark wizard is at large again. This is a lie._

Anger and hatred wells up inside of me so fiercely I feel as though I might explode, and it's with great difficulty that I manage to contain myself.

"I thought she was-" I begin, but cut myself off, noticing that my voice is shaking with anger. I take a deep breath, get myself together, and look Harry squarely in the eyes, hoping that my emotions don't show through on my face. "I thought you said she had you writing lines."

"She was," Harry says, pulling his hand away from me and covering it with his sleeve again.

"And you just _happened_ to leave out that your blood was the ink, did you?" I say, and it's no use, my voice is shaking once more. When he doesn't say anything, I say, "You have to go to Dumbledore."

"No, I don't," Harry says. "Dumbledore doesn't need to be bothered-"

"Are you insane?" I demand. "What d'you mean Dumbledore doesn't need to be bothered? The woman's bloody torturing you, Harry, and the proof is on your hand!"

"I'm not giving her the satisfaction of letting her know it hurts," Harry insists. "I'm not letting her win."

" _The satisfaction-_?" I repeat weakly, shaking my head in disbelief. "Harry this isn't a game! This isn't Malfoy, or something! This is Umbridge - a teacher, and a member of the Ministry, no less, and she's _torturing_ you as punishment, and she's bound to do it to other people! This isn't about right or wrong anymore, Harry, it really isn't! You _need_ to go to Dumbledore - or - or McGonagall - or anyone! Imagine what the parents would say if they found out their kids-"

"Yeah, except I haven't got any of those, have I?" Harry interrupts.

"Really? Well, that makes two of us, then, doesn't it?" I snap.

He seems to realize what we've said, and his eyes widen a little.

"Look, Hazel, I didn't - I didn't mean-"

"Yes, I know you didn't mean it, but it'd be nice if you realize I'm not working against you, here," I say wearily, rubbing my face blearily.

"I know you're not working against me," Harry says.

"Then please act like it," I say, smiling weakly. "Now are you going to report that old hag, or not?"

"No," Harry replies immediately. "I can't. And you can't either!"

I give him a hard look for a long time, before letting out a sigh.

"I won't report her, if that's what you really want," I say. "But if you're going to keep this a secret - or, at least, as secret as you can keep it - then you have to stay out of trouble."

"That's rich, coming from you," Harry snorts.

"I mean it, Harry," I tell him seriously. "She's going to try and provoke you like she did that first lesson, and you can't let her."

"What, am I supposed to act like she's right in spreading around all those lies-" Harry demands.

"Of course not, but until calling her out on her lies proves to be useful - or not harmful, at the very least - then it'd be best if you keep quiet," I reply. "Literally bite your tongue and sit on your hands, if you must. You said you don't want her to win? Well, this part of how she wins, so let her know it's not happening."

"Right - right," he says, rubbing his face blearily. "Look, I'm going to go, you know, see how Ron's holding up, probably get some sleep, too... I'll see you tomorrow..."

"Yeah, all right," I say tiredly, giving him the best smile I can muster at the moment.

When the door to the boys' dormitories closes behind him, however, the smile melts off my face and I stare unseeingly at the table before me, breathing deeply and trying not to scream in frustration.

Umbridge is evil. She's evil and vile and terrible and cruel. How else could she give out a punishment like this? She's an awful, terrible excuse for a human.

 _But she's not a Death Eater,_ I remind myself, because the idea that Harry had introduced yesterday is surfacing in my mind. _She's not in league with Voldemort. She can't be._

But I can't help but think that if there can be wizards in the Ministry that are secretly in league with Dumbledore, it can't be too far-fetched that there would be wizards at the Ministry who are secretly in league with Voldemort.

 _I mean, look at Lucius Malfoy_ , I point out but I shake my head, as though to shake off such thoughts, because Umbridge can't be working with Voldemort and Harry's scar hurting while he was in her office must have been a coincidence and Umbridge being here is bad enough without the idea of her working with Voldemort, be it willingly or under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Besides, people can't just be split into Good People and Death Eaters, can they?

The sound of someone sitting down on the seat Harry had just occupied moments ago snaps me out of my thoughts. Startling a little, I look up and find Fred in front of me, grinning.

"Hello," I greet tiredly.

"How are you?" he asks.

I hesitate for the tiniest moment.

"Fine," I reply.

"You hesitated,"

"Did not!"

"Did too," he says matter-of-factly.

"You're being ridiculous," I shake my head, before adding, determined to change the subject, "How are _you_?"

"I'm all right," he says after a moment.

"Why only all right?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, mostly curious, and the tiniest part of me wanting to get the subject off of me and my current state of being.

"Why d'you wanna know?" Fred asks suspiciously.

"As your concerned girlfriend, I'd like to know why you're not the happiest you could be," I say, as though this should be obvious.

"Right," he says, smiling faintly. "Well, first of all, things with Weasley Wizard Wheezes is getting a bit... difficult."

"Why?"

"Because word got out that we gave Katie something to give her a nosebleed that, you know, we couldn't end up stopping, so it's kind of slowing down business a bit," Fred replies. "People are getting a little less trusting with our stuff... as soon as we can convince them that it was the tiniest, rarest, most unlucky mistake, though, we should get back to normal."

"At least they know the stuff works, now," I point out. "I mean, they'll definitely get out of class if they eat one of those things."

"That's true," Fred laughs.

"Anyway, what else is up?" I ask. "You said first of all, meaning there's got to be something else."

"Well, there's also the fact that my girlfriend insists on hiding things, to the extent where she tries to change the subject in what she thinks is a discreet way, but anyone with a brain can tell that it really isn't," Fred adds thoughtfully, his lips quivering into a smile.

"Shut up," I say.

"Just tell me what's on your mind," Fred says.

"We talk about me too much," I say dismissively, waving a hand absently, "let's talk about _you_. What's your favourite colour?" I ask, though I know it's red.

"Red," Fred replies, smiling faintly.

"Nice choice," I comment, and continue asking his questions determinedly, though I know the answers to all of them.

"Hazel, I'm not entirely sure why you're asking me these, since you look about ready to answer the question before me every time," he says. "Just tell me what's on your mind."

"No, no, that's fine," I say quickly and a bit loudly. But when he insists, I finally burst out. "What's on my mind, Fred, if you _really_ must know, is that Umbridge is the most vile, cruel person I've ever come across and we're stuck with her and she's not even letting us use magic - as if _theory's_ any fucking use when Voldemort's back - and it's only the first week of school and I'm already stressed about all the work and the OWL's and what I even want to do after I'm done at Hogwarts, and Quidditch has barely started and I'm already worried about it and Ron and a million other things - how is it even possible to feel so many things and still be alive? I don't know, sorry, I'll stop."

But Fred, who had been listening with rapt attention, shakes his head. "No, no, keep going! You almost never express yourself, you always keep it to yourself. This is - it's - keep going."

I stare at him, shocked that he cares so much, before finding the right words and continuing. As I say exactly what comes to my mind when it does, it occurs to me that I should probably think a little more about what I'm saying, but once I start I can't stop, the words spilling out of my mouth with very little control.

"... and I'm sorry you have to listen to all of this, but maybe next time, you'll know better than to ask," I continue.

"Don't apologize," he says earnestly, reaching over to take my hands in his. "I want to hear it."

I blush a little, looking from him to my lap, slightly shocked. When I look back at him, he has the tiniest smile on his face, and he seems to make his mind on something, because he gets to his feet, and walks around the table so that he's behind me.

"Fred, what are you doi-?" I begin, but find out exactly what when he puts his hands on my shoulders and begins rubbing at my shoulders. "Are - are you giving me a massage, Fred Weasley?" I ask, smirking.

"Yes, yes I am," he replies. "And you'll find that I'm very good at them, since I used to give them to Mum all the time when she got _really_ stressed."

"Did you really?" I ask, shocked.

"Yes, I did," he answers simply. "She said that I was a natural, much better than those ridiculous _professionals_ that people would pay a stupid amount of money for."

"Did she now? Well, I'm sure she was only saying that to be nice," I tease.

"We'll see about that," Fred says.

I do see. And what I see is that Mrs. Weasley had not told him he was good to be nice. He knows exactly what he's doing, applying the perfect amount of pressure in the perfect spot, and I find it impossible not to relax into it.

"Keep talking, then," Fred says, and I can practically hear the smirk in his voice, because he knows I'm trying very hard not to let any noise of pleasure that may or may not be rising in my throat.

"Have - nothing else - to say," I squeak, looking down at my lap, clutching my habds very tightly and biting my lips.

"Is that so?" he says, and I just nod. "Well, how am I doing, then?"

"Fine," I reply, clutching tighter onto my hands. "Maybe you should - should stop, though. People - public displays - of - of affection-"

"No one's here, don't worry," he says in a low voice.

I look around, and find that he's right.

"Why are we - always - alone?" I ask, trying very hard to sound casual. "Not that I'm - complaining, though."

He chuckles at that.

"I have no clue," Fred replies. "Let's not jinx it, though..."

I just nod again, and though he talks, I don't say much, partly because I don't want to give him any more satisfaction of knowing how much I'm enjoying this, and partly because all I really want to do is enjoy this. He begins to plant little kisses on my face, starting to my temple and going down to the corner of my mouth.

"All right - all right, fine," I say. "You win, you're - you're good - you're perfect," I correct myself, the tiniest of choked moans coming out as I do. "You win."

"I wasn't trying to win anything, but I'll take it," he says, and he stops, before sitting back down across from me.

"Oh, wipe that smirk off your face, won't you?" I say, embarrassed and looking away from him.

"I'm not smirking!" he protests, which only makes his smirk widen.

"You are the biggest prat in the entire universe," I declare. "You do know that, right?"

"Who gives perfect massages," he shrugs.

"Shut up," I mumble, blushing.

"Hey, I'm quoting you, here," he points out.

"Whatever," I say, now very embarrassed, and scrambling to my feet. "Well, I - I think I'm going to bed-"

I trip over my bag, and then bend down and grab it, throwing it over my shoulder and trying to play it cool. Fred laughs.

"You know, I don't think I've seen you this nervous since-"

"I'm _not_ nervous, you git," I protest.

"That blush begs to differ," he points out.

" _Blushing -_ I'm _not-_ " I splutter.

Fred stands up, smirking.

"If you ask me, the whole thing was very attractive," he whispers in my ear, though we're quite alone, and if I was blushing before, it's nothing compared to now.

"Well," I say, fidgeting nervously and looking from his lips to his eyes, "unfortunately, I wasn't asking you."

With that, I go up on tiptoe and kiss him. I hold his face in my hands, while his arms wrap around his waist, and he smirks that irritatingly attractive smirk into it. My hands move down to rest on his shoulders, and when I pull away and my heels touch the ground, I grin at him.

"You know, I think I'll have to return the favour one day, Weasley," I inform him.

"Yeah? Well, I'll call you when I need you, Knight," he says. "But I doubt you'll be as good as me."

"We'll see about that, Fred Weasley," I say challengingly.

"I'll be looking forward to it, Hazel Knight," he grins, nodding.

I kiss him quickly one more time, before bidding him goodnight and hurrying upstairs, thinking that Fred deserves a medal for being able to make me feel so much better.


	22. Padfoot in Flames

**Ours**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Padfoot in Flames**

 

After dinner the next day, I spot Jace walking a little ahead on his own, while on the way back to the common room with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Thinking of how long it's been since I've last talked to him, I promise Harry, Ron, and Hermione I'll be right back, before hurrying over to Jace.

"Hey - Jace!" I call.

He turns around, and, upon seeing me, his face splits into a grin. As I catch up to him, we throw our arms around each other, and begin walking across the Entrance Hall and through the great double doors, onto the grounds.

"How've you been?" I ask, grinning at him.

"I've been good," he replies. "Busy. Can you believe it? It's the first week and I'm already busy? Honestly, fuck OWL year."

"I hear you," I say, nodding. "What are they playing at, with all that homework?"

We continue complaining about all the schoolwork we're getting for a while, walking around the Black Lake, occasionally stopping to admire the Giant Squid when its tentacles surface, before being drawn back into the depths of the lake. We also complain about teachers we dislike.

"Anyway, what have you been up to?" I ask, looking away from the Giant Squid for the fourth time. "I mean, besides the homework? Anything been happening lately?"

"Uh, nothing, really," Jace replies. "I like to keep it quiet, you know me," he talks a bit about what's been happening in his life, before hesitantly adding, "And I'm - I'm gay. I mean, that's not something that's been happening lately, that's been for a while, but I mean, yeah. Have you got a problem with it?" he asks me, almost defensively, at my surprised look.

"No, of course not!" I reply earnestly. "Perfectly find with me. Have you told anyone else?"

"Uh, just my family, and I told a couple of my friends, and then one thing turned to another and now I'm pretty sure everyone in Ravenclaw knows," Jace points out. "They've all been very okay about it, for the most part, though, luckily... and then a few people from other houses might know, but I reckon that's it. I'm not exactly very popular, so it's not surprising."

"Well-" I begin, not wanting to agree with the fact that he's not popular and sound rude.

"Don't worry about being nice, we both know it's true," he says dismissively, waving a hand absently.

"Right," I say, with a slight grin on my face. "Well, good on you for coming out, mate."

"Thank you," he says, smiling, looking relieved. "It's been really hard, especially with my family, I was terrified they wouldn't accept me. I'm so glad they did. A couple people in Ravenclaw made some comments, but they got told off, and now nobody really talks to them much, so... still, it gets worrying..."

"They're ducks," I say matter-of-factly. "Nobody worth your time - or _anyone's_ time, for that matter - will care."

"Right," he says, nodding. "Thank you."

We continue talking, giving the Black Lake another round.

"What's this I hear about you and Fred Weasley, though?" Jack asks me, a bit of a smirk on his face.

"Oh," I say, blushing slightly, "yeah, we're dating."

"Are you now?" he asks, his smirk widening. "Well, it's certainly about time."

"Excuse me," I say, slapping him lightly. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"It should've happened ages ago, really," Jace informs me.

"And how would you know that?" I demand.

"Remember when he saw us together and got really mad and said I was a git? I suspected he was jealous, because he thought I was competition, but I didn't say anything because you seemed upset at the time. Me - _competition_ ," he laughs, throwing an arm around me. "If only he knew... besides, even if I did fancy girls, I really wouldn't have stood a chance against him. I saw the way you looked at him, I can't imagine who else you could look at like that with him around..."

"Right," I say, blushing. He looks at me, grinning at my embarrassed expression.

"It's amazing how red you can get sometimes," he informs me.

"Shut up, you prat!" I say loudly, slapping him again, hitting him harder this time, he just laughs, stumbling a bit away from me and rubbing his arm.

"Oi, that hurts!" he exclaims.

"Oh, I'm sure it does," I roll my eyes.

"Really! I think you underestimate your power, Hazel," Jace says seriously, and I just roll my eyes and shake my head, smiling. "Anyway, you can tell him, if you like, if that gets rid of his doubts. In fact, you can tell anyone you want, basically. I'm not hiding anymore, it nearly drove me insane, before..."

I nod, and we continue to talk and laugh as we walk around the Black Lake once more, until Jack finally admits that he has some homework to be getting on with.

"I'll be glad when this year's over," he tells me, as we begin our walk back to the castle. "It's a mark of how much work we're getting that I'm saying it after one week - usually it takes at least two."

I laugh at that, nodding. As we reach the Entrance Hall, I see three figures beginning to go up the marble staircase. I recognize them as Fred, George, and Lee, and, smiling wider, I wave them over. They smile and wave back, moving to head to us, and as my eyes linger on Fred for just a moment longer, I notice he looks more than a tiny bit tense.

"Hey," Jace says, smiling and waving at them.

"Hi," George and Lee greet in unison, smiling back at the both of us.

"How are you?" Fred asks loudly, his eyes locked on me.

Jace and I exchange looks; he lets out a laugh that he tries very hard to turn into a cough, looking away and covering his mouth with his fist. I suppress a smile myself, knowing that this probably isn't the best behaviour to have when your boyfriend is jealous.

"What?" Fred demands.

"Nothing - nothing," Jace says quickly, trying very hard not to look amused. "Absolutely nothing at all. I've gotta go, I'll see you around."

"See you, Jace," I call after him as he begins to walk away.

"Hazel, here's a suggestion, you might want to stop looking like you're having a lot of fun around decent-looking blokes that aren't him," George suggests in a low voice.

"I think there's been a _slight_ misunderstanding-" I begin, still more than a little amused about the whole situation.

"Can I have a word?" Fred says loudly.

"Of course you can, Freddie," I nod, already knowing what the discussion is going to be about.

I allow Fred to take my wrist and drag me away, turning back to wave at George and Lee, entirely unconcerned. As he drags me up the marble staircase and through corridors and up more staircases, I wave and say hello to familiar faces and even people in portraits who I know have taken a liking to me. They give me weird looks at Fred's determined and annoyed expression, before turning to his hand grasping my wrist. I just shrug, allowing Fred to lead me through the castle, not very concerned about where we're going.

"Hey, Fred, where you taking her? Might want to calm down with the sex, you're still pretty young-" a Gryffindor boy in Fred's year that I know only by sight says.

"Oh, please, Kenneth," Fred says, "worry about who _you're_ shagging instead of who I am, all right?"

"I'm not shagging anyone, Weasley," the boy says.

"Well, maybe that's your problem, then," Fred asks, sarcasm clear in his voice.

With that, he begins leading me away again.

"Kenneth?" I repeat, my brow furrowed. "Isn't that the bloke with the pajamas you put Bulbadox Powder in? Kenneth Towel, or something?"

"That's the one," he replies, and I can tell he's trying not to smile. "And his name is Towler, not Towel. He's not something you use to dry yourself off when you're wet, believe it or not."

"Same thing," I say dismissively, waving my free hand absently.

He doesn't say anything to that, but something in the way that his body seems a little less tells me that I've relaxed him. Not enough, however, as he continues to lead me through the castle. We see Filch twice, who snaps at us the second time, telling us to stop.

"We're not doing anything wrong," Fred says irritably. "We're allowed to be out at this time."

"I don't trust the two of you together," he says, looking at us with distrust clear in his eyes. "If I catch you two again, it's detention for the both of you."

"For what?" I call after him angrily, but he continues walking, Mrs. Norris at his heel. "That prick."

Fred just continues walking, leading me through the corridors and up another staircase. He shows no sign of stopping, and finally I get curious, frowning a little.

"Fred, where are we even going?" I ask.

"Somewhere private," he replies.

"I'm sure a lot of the places we just passed are private," I point out.

He just shakes his head, and I roll my eyes, but allow him to lead me through the castle, until we're on the seventh floor. In spite of this, Fred is apparently still dissatisfied, because he still keeps walking. I notice the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet as we walk past it and frown. We've been past here already.

"Fred, we're going in circles," I complain.

"No, we're not," Fred shakes his head.

"Yes, we are," I insist. "We've passed that statue before-"

But at that moment, we see Mrs. Norris coming around the corner on the other side of the hall. When she sees us, she lets out a loud meowing sound, before turning back. We both know all too well that where Mrs. Norris is, her owner usually isn't too far away. Remembering his threats of a detention, Fred tightens his grip on my wrist, before turning around and running back into the corridor we'd recently been in.

Together, we run through the corridors, and the distant sound of pounding footsteps tell us Filch is doing the same. But we're still going in circles, and when we pass the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy for the third time, I decide it's time to speak up again.

"Fred, we can run as long as we like, but we're going to need a place to hide," I point out.

He stops running, looking up and down the corridor.

"Let's go in here," he says, pointing to a door beside the statue.

I frown.

"That was _not_ here before-" I begin, but Fred drags me over to it, opening the door and pulling me inside.

He closes the door, before pulling his wand out and muttering a spell that I can't quite make out. He stows his wand back in his pocket, before pressing his ear to the door, licking his lips as he listens for any sign of Filch. He perks up after a moment, his brow furrowing as he leans closer to the door After about twenty seconds, he moves away.

"All right, are we going to talk about how this room literally did _not_ exist five seconds ago?" I demand, crossing my arms and looking around the room, taking it in; it's a classroom that appears to be misused, considering that some of the pieces of furniture are a bit dusty.

"The castle's pretty weird, it might not even be the only room like that..."

"Okay, but why did it just show up _now_?" I ask.

"Who knows? Maybe it exists to shield troublemakers of Hogwarts," Fred shrugs, looking distracted.

"We weren't even making any trouble to begin with!" I exclaim.

"Yeah, well, to Filch it never really matters much, does it?" Fred says. "Anyway, we've got much more important matters at hand."

"Such as?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, though I know what he's talking about.

"You and Jace," he replies.

I decide to play dumb.

"What about me and Jace?"

"Oh, you know exactly what," Fred snaps. "How you and him always seem to be so - so - I don't know - _together_ , and it's not-"

He gives me a strange look, as I've begun giggling, unable to help myself.

"This isn't a joke, Hazel!" he complains, a slightly whiny tone to his voice, which doesn't help the situation.

"No - no - of course it isn't!" I agree, fighting a losing battle not to laugh. "It's just - it's just-"

"Just what?" Fred demands.

"Jace is gay," I say. "It's just so funny you're so convinced of it, when in reality..."

"Wait - he's gay?" Fred asks, and when I nod, grinning, he looks away, slightly slumped, before turning back to me, his worked up expression back. "Well, still! It's not just him! It's him and Harry and - and - other people, and it's just-"

"Oh, come on, Fred," I say, my shoulders slouching slightly. "Haven't I told you before that I can't even think about looking at anyone with you around? Haven't I told you that nobody can make me feel the way you do? Haven't I told you I've fancied you like mad for the past two years? Why the hell would you think that I'd want anyone else but you?"

"I don't know," Fred says, rubbing his face blearily, "it's just - I don't know," he finishes lamely. But I can tell that he was about to say something.

"Come on, tell me, it's fine," I say.

"Nothing," he insists. "It's nothing."

"Right, nothing," I scoff disbelievingly, turning away from him and uncrossing my arms as I do, allowing them to drop back to my sides.

Shaking my head, I look around the classroom, before moving over to a dust free desk and sitting on top of it, crossing my ankles. We stay there for a moment in silence, Fred still standing by the door, looking down at the ground, while I stare at the wall opposite.

"You know, it's really rich when you tell me to open up and say how I feel, when you go off and keep things from me yourself," I say.

"I have my reasons, you know," Fred says.

"Well, maybe I've got my reasons, too!" I exclaim, crossing my arms, sitting up straighter, and glaring at him. "Why is it that I've got to be an open book for you, but you can keep whatever you want hidden from me?"

"Hazel, it's just really hard-"

"Of course! I hadn't realized!" I say sarcastically, getting angrier by the second. "When things are hard to say for you, I need to drop it with the questions and stay out of your business, but when it's hard for me to say, you can still pester me all you want until I say it, is that right?"

"Of course that's not it," Fred protests, "but it's just-"

"Well, if that's not it, I don't see why you can't tell me at least this," I say stubbornly.

He looks away from me, tapping his foot for a moment, before turning back to me, his expression determined. He walks in my direction until he's right in front of me, and though my breath hitches slightly due to being so close to him, I keep my expression stony.

"The truth, then?" he prompts, and when I nod slightly, he continues. "The truth is that you scare me a little, sometimes, because I absolutely adore you, Hazel Knight. I really do. And I'm yours - one hundred percent, completely yours. And then I see you with other guys and it scares me a bit, because it feels like I feel that way and I'm completely mad for you and you don't even care about me - or you do, just not as much as I do, and it scares me a bit to feel like I feel that way about you, when you can just go off and replace me in a heartbeat and not even think about me, whereas there's absolutely no one I want except for you."

I stare at him, the stony expression now gone like smoke, my mouth open slightly. He stares right back into my eyes, and I can't feel anything but shock, shocked that he feels so much about me, shocked that he'd think that I could ever just go off and replace him.

"Oh, my God," I whisper, before gripping the fabric of his robes, pulling him closer to me, and kissing him fiercely.

He stands, surprised, for a moment, before returning the kiss, putting his hands on either side of my waist. I pull away from him, breathless, but my grip on his robes tighten as I look into his eyes.

"How could you ever - _ever_ \- even - even - _think_ -" I say, finding it hard to form proper sentences. "Don't think for _one second_ that I could just replace you in a heartbeat - because I could never - _never_ \- I've wanted you for two years, and I still don't want anyone but you. Not Harry, not Jace, not anybody. _You_."

"Is that so?" he mutters, his gaze flickering down to my lips before returning to my eyes.

"Yes, you bloody idiot," I say breathlessly, before pulling him back into another kiss.

"So, I'm your idiot, then?" he asks between kisses.

"Of course," I say seriously. "I thought this was decided ages ago."

He grins at me.

"Never thought I'd be so glad to be someone's idiot," he informs me, before kissing me again.

 

***

 

When we stumble back into the common room, fingers interlocked and laughing even though nothing was all that funny, I look at him and his hair and his eyes and his nose and his lips and his ears and everything in between, and feel a pang at the sudden reminder that he won't be here next year. I shake it off, though, because we've still got loads of time, and bring my smile back onto my face.

"Fred!" someone calls.

We turn and find George and Lee, beckoning him over. I'd rather he not leave, but I don't exactly want to say that and sound whiny, so I say goodbye back to him when he does. I want to kiss him, but know that that's not the best idea since there are people around, so I settle to going up on tiptoe and kissing his cheek, before watching him as he walks away for a moment.

I look around the common room, hands on my hips, trying to find friends of my own to socialize with. I spot Harry and Ron by the fire, but they're both working on the homework they put off until the last minute, and I decide to leave them to it. Next I see Hermione and Ginny chatting merrily. Hermione knitting more hats, no doubt for the house-elves. I walk over to them, sitting next to Ginny.

"Hi!" I greet brightly.

"Hey, Hazel," Ginny says with a grin. "Where have you been...?" her eyes flicker rather obviously to Fred.

"Yes, I was with Fred, my boyfriend. Hilarious, I know," I say sarcastically.

"I was just asking," she says in an innocent voice that doesn't deceive me.

"Well, I'm afraid you'll disappointed," I say. "All we did was talk. You know, you're lucky I'm not this nosy with _your_ boyfriend."

She gives me an incredulous look.

"What the hell do you mean you're not this nosy?" she demands. "All you ever do is say, 'Hey, Ginny, how's Michael?'. 'Oooh, Ginny, were you with Michael?'. 'I can't believe I've caught you snogging Michael again, Ginny,' which was really annoying, because you've only caught us twice. How about, 'I'm sure Michael's real grateful for all the _studying_ you're doing, Ginny,' or-"

"All right, fine, you win," I say, putting my hands up in mock surrender.

Hermione just smirks at the pair of us as she continues to knit.

"How're the hats working out, then?" I ask Hermione, as she finishes one and starts on another.

"They're going really well! They're disappearing like mad, I can't believe it! It's clear those elves do want to be free, no matter what Ron says," Hermione says.

Ginny and I exchange glances.

"Hermione, are you sure you should be hiding the hats with rubbish? Not that I disagree with house-elf freedom!" I add quickly, when she gives me an angry look. "But should you be tricking them? I don't know, I mean, they should only be picking them up if they _want_ to."

"Of course they want to!" Hermione insists. "They just don't know it yet."

I think about how much of a mess Winky was after getting sacked and feel doubtful of this. But I also know there's no arguing with Hermione when she gets like this, so I let the subject drop. Ginny hurriedly changes the subject, and I give her a grateful look.

"All right, there," Hermione says after a while, dropping another hat. "I think I'm done for now."

She starts placing the hats around the room, covering it up with bits of rubbish and standing back to admire the effect. Time passes by, and at half past eleven, Ginny announces that she's going to bed. Hermione and I bid her goodnight, before walking over to Harry and Ron.

"Nearly done?" Hermione asks, yawning and sitting across from Harry.

"No," Ron replies shortly, as I sit down across from him.

"Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto," Hermione says, pointing at a couple sentences on Ron's Astronomy essay, "And it's Io that's got the volcanoes."

"Thanks," Ron snarls, scratching out the offending sentences.

"Sorry, I-"

"Well, if you've only come over to criticize-"

"Ron-"

"I haven't got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione, I'm up to my neck in it here-"

"No - look!" Hermione says, pointing to the nearest window.

I look over and find a handsome screech owl, looking into the window at Ron.

"Is that - is that Hermes?" I ask, shocked.

"Blimey, it is," Ron says quietly. "What's Percy writing to me for?"

He throws down his quill and crosses the common room, opening the window. Hermes flies into the room, landing on Ron's Astronomy essay, holding the leg with a letter attached. The owl takes off as soon as Ron takes the letter off of it, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the planet Io.

"That's definitely Percy's handwriting," Ron says, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words outside of the scroll: Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. "What do you reckon?"

"Open it!" Hermione says eagerly, and Harry and I nod.

Ron unrolls the scroll and begins to read. The father his eyes travel down the parchment, the more bigger his frown becomes. When he finishes, the thrusts the letter at me, looking disgusted, and Harry and Hermione look over my shoulder to read it.

_Dear Ron,_

_I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister for Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect._

_I was most pleasantly surprised when I heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the 'Fred and George' route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to show some real responsibility. But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which if why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully, you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions._

_From something the Minister let slip when telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of Harry Potter. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put in danger of losing your badge more than continued fraternization with that boy. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this - no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favourite - but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different - and probably more accurate - view of Potter's behaviour. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing - and see if you can spot yours truly!_

_Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school, too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted him to court, Potter had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot and he did not come out of it looking too good. He got off on a mere technicality, if you ask me, and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of his guilt._

_It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with Potter - I know that he can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent - but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in Potter's behaviour that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a truly delightful woman who I know will be only too happy to advise you._

_This leads me to the my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts me soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that, so far, Professor Umbridge is encountering very little co-operation from staff as she strives to make those necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week - again, see the Daily Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this - a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well-placed for Head Boy ship in a couple of years!_

_I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticize our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore. (If you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespass at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders.) I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigmas of association with such people - the Minister really could not be more gracious to me - and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions, either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realize how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes._

_Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Harry Potter, and congratulations again on becoming prefect._

_Your brother,_

_Percy_

 

 

I stare at the letter in shock. I had always known that Percy was pompous, and I'd known that he was a giant git for what he did over the summer, but this seems to be an entirely new level of ridiculousness. I'd scoffed at the bit of 'taking the Fred and George route', and as I progressed through the letter, my emotions had matched Ron's expression of disgust.

"WEll," Harry says, "if you want to - er - what was it?" he looks back at the parchment, before looking up at Ron again - "Oh, yeah - 'sever ties' with me, I swear I won't get violent."

"Give it back," Ron says, holding out his hand. "He is-" Ron says jerkily, tearing the letter in half at the words "-the world's-" he tears it into quarters "-biggest-" he tore it into eights "-git," he finishes, throwing the pieces into the fire. "Come on, we've got to get this finishes sometime before dawn," he says briskly to Harry, pulling the Astronomy essay back towards him.

Hermione looks at Ron with an odd expression on her face.

"Oh, give them here," she says abruptly.

"What?" says Ron.

"Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them," she says.

"Are you serious? Ah, Hermione, you're a lifesaver," Ron says seriously, "what can I-?"

"What you can say is, 'We promise to never leave our homework this late again,'" she says, holding out her hand to take Ron's essay, but looking amused all the same.

Harry looks at me for a long time, and I can tell what he's silently asking of me.

"All right, fine, give it to me," I sigh, holding out my hand and sinking back into his chair.

It's now past midnight and the common room is deserted except for the four of us and Crookshanks. The only noise being made is the sound of Hermione and I scratching out sentences on the essays here and there, and the ruffling of pages as we check facts in the reference books.

"Okay, write that down," Hermione says after a while, handing the essay back to Ron along with a sheet with her own handwriting on it, "then add this conclusion I've written for you."

"Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met," Ron says weakly, "and if I'm ever rude to you again-"

"Then I'll know you've gone back to normal," Hermione says.

With a grin at that comment, I finish up correcting Harry's essay.

"Harry, I reckon yours is good except for this bit at the end," I say. "I think you might've misheard Sinistra, or it was an accident, or something, because Europa's covered with ice, not mice - Harry?"

Harry had slid off his chair and onto his knees, now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the flames.

"Er - Harry?" Ron says uncertainly. "Why are you down there?"

"Because I've just seen Sirius' head in the fire," Harry says calmly, almost too calmly, considering what he's saying.

"Sirius' head?" Hermione repeats. "You mean like how he tried to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it's too - Sirius!"

She gasps, gazing at the fire, and Ron drops his quill, because, sure enough, in the middle of the dancing flames is Sirius' head, his long, dark hair falling around his grinning face.

"I was starting to think that you'd go to bed before everyone else disappeared," Sirius says. "I've been checking every hour."

"You've been popping into the fire every hour?" Harry asks, half laughing.

"Just for a few seconds to check if the coast is clear," Sirius answers.

"What if you were seen?" I say anxiously.

"Well, I think a girl - first year, by the look of her - might've glimpsed me earlier, but don't worry," he adds quickly, as Hermione claps her hand over her mouth, "I was gone when she looked back at me and she probably thought I was just an oddly shaped log, or something."

"But, Sirius, this is taking an awful risk-" Hermione begins.

"You sound like Molly," Sirius says. "This is the only way I could speak to Harry without resorting to a code - and codes are breakable."

At the mention of the letter, Ron, Hermione, and I turn to stare at Harry.

"You didn't mention you'd written to Sirius!" Hermione says accusingly.

"I forgot to mention," Harry says. "Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there's no way anyone could've gotten any information out of it, was there, Sirius?"

"No, it was very good," Sirius agrees, smiling. "Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed - your scar."

"What about-?" Ron begins.

"We'll tell you later," I promise. "Go on, Sirius."

"Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but I don't think it's anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?"

"Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happens when Voldemort is feeling a really powerful emotion," Harry nods, and we ignore Ron and Hermione's winces. "So maybe he was just really angry the night of my detention, or something."

"Well, now that he's back it's bound to hurt more often," Sirius says.

"So you don't think it has anything to do with her touching me when I was in detention with her?" Harry asks.

"I doubt it," Sirius replies. "I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater."

"She's foul enough to be one," Harry says, and Ron, Hermione, and I nod vigorously in agreement.

"Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters," Sirius says with a wry smile. "I know she's a nasty piece of work, though - you should hear the way Remus talks about her."

"Does Lupin know her?" Harry asks.

"No, but she drafted a but of an anti-werewolf legislation that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job," Sirius answers.

I whip around to look at Sirius, suddenly remembering a bit of what Remus had said to me in a latter last year. _I also haven't managed to get another job, as an anti-werewolf legislation has been recently passed, which makes it very difficult for me to get a job._

"That was her?" I demand angrily, and when he nods, I say angrily, "I should have known. You should have heard the way she was talking about ' _extremely dangerous half-breeds_.'" I say, putting on an impression of her voice, my dislike for Umbridge deepening even further, remembering how much shabbier Remus has looked lately.

"What's she got against werewolves?" Hermione says angrily.

"Scared of them, I expect," Sirius says, smiling at our indignation. "Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. Imagine wasting your time and energy in persecuting merpeople when toerags like Kreacher exist."

"Sirius!" Hermione says reproachfully, as Ron laughs. "Honestly, if you made a bit more of an effort with Kreacher, I'm sure he'd respond. After all, you are the only member of the family left, and Professor Dumbledore said-"

"So what are Umbridge's lessons like?" Sirius interrupts. "Is she training you to kill half-breeds?"

"No," Harry replies, ignoring the affronted look on Hermione's face after being cut off. "She's not letting us use magic at all!"

"All we do is read from the stupid textbook," Ron says.

"Ah, well, that figures," Sirius says. "Our information from inside the Ministry tells us that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."

"Trained in combat?" I repeat incredulously. "What the hell does Fudge think we're doing in here, trying to form some sort of wizard army?"

"That's exactly what Fudge thinks you're doing," Sirius says, "or, rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing - forming his own private army, with which he'll use to fight the Ministry of Magic."

There's a silence as we all contemplate Sirius' words and allow ourselves to get angered by them, before Ron says, "That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard in my life, including all the stuff Luna Lovegood comes out with."

"So we're being prevented from learning Defence Against the Dark Arts, because

"Fudge is scared we'll use the spells against the Ministry?" Hermione demands furiously.

"Yep," Sirius says. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power, he's getting more paranoid about him by the day. It's only a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested for some trumped-up charge."

"D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the _Daily Prophet_ , tomorrow?" Harry asks. "Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be-"

"I don't know," Sirius says. "I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been me and Kreacher here."

There's an undeniable note of bitterness in his voice.

"So you haven't got any news about Hagrid, either?"

"Ah..." Sirius begins, "well, he was supposed to have been back by now, no one's sure what happened to him," Sirius says, and, upon seeing our stricken faces, quickly adds, "but Dumbledore's not worried, so don't get yourselves into a state. I'm sure Hagrid's fine."

"But if he was supposed to be back by now..." Hermione says, her voice small and anxious.

"Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she said they got separated on the journey home - but there's nothing to suggest that he's hurt, or - well, nothing to suggest that he's not perfectly okay."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I exchange looks, unconvinced.

"Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid," Sirius says hastily, "it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay," Sirius continues, and upon realizing we're not relaxed bu his words, adds, "When's your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise, didn't we? I thought I could-"

"NO!" Harry, Hermione, and I say together, very loudly.

"Sirius, didn't you read the _Daily Prophet_ article?" I ask anxiously.

"Oh, that," Sirius says, and, much to my disbelief, grins, "they're always guessing where I am, but they really haven't got a clue-"

"Yeah, but I think this time they have an idea," Harry says. "Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius - you know, Lucius Malfoy - so don't come up here, whatever you do. If Malfoy recognizes you again-"

"All right, all right, I get the point," Sirius interrupts, looking displeased. "Just an idea, thought you'd might like to get together."

"I would, I just don't want you chucked into Azkaban again!" Harry says.

There's a moment of silence as Sirius stares at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes.

"You're less like you're father than I thought," Sirius says finally, a definite tone of coolness in his voice. "The risk is what would've made it fun for James."

"Look-" Harry begins.

"Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs," Sirius says, but I get the distinct impression that he's lying. "I'll write you a time that I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?"

There's a tiny pop after his words, and the place where Sirius' head had been is nothing but flickering flame once more.


	23. The Hogwarts High Inquisitor

**Ours**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: The Hogwarts High Inquisitor**

 

I wake very suddenly with a gasp, bolting upright in bed. My heart is pounding furiously in my chest, though it takes several minutes for me to remember why. It's because of the dream I had.

Sirius had been laughing at God knows what, when he had fallen through a door with a thin, tattered black veil. Surprised by this, I had hurried over to the door to pull him back out, but a woman with thick, shining dark hair, long eyelashes, and heavily hooded eyes stopped me, waving her hand and cackling madly. All the while, Kreacher stood off to the side, cackling just as madly as the woman and dancing around the room, whilst Remus and Dobby stood off to the side, looking more than a little grim.

Confused about the dream and why it had scared me so badly, I scratch the back of my head and look around my bed, before lying back down and staring up at the blank canvas of my four poster, brow furrowed. What had that dream been about? Who was that woman? Why did she stop me from helping Sirius? Why had Sirius fallen through the door? Why hadn't he just come right back? Why is the whole thing scaring me so much? Really, the more I think about it, the more ridiculous it seems, but it's still a while before my rapidly beating heart calms itself down.

Should I tell Harry about it? I mean, such a dream involving Sirius would surely be something that Harry would like to hear about, wouldn't it? But I shake the thought off; it was a silly little dream, one that I probably only had because I was worried about Sirius. It makes sense to have a dream of someone disappearing through a mysterious door, unable to return, if you're worried about them, doesn't it?

With that thought in mind, I get up out of bed and get dressed, trying very hard to forget the events of the dream. It's when I'm finally completely dressed and ready that I look at the clock and find that it's five in the morning, and the other girls in the dormitory are just barely getting up.

Mildly surprised by this, I sit on the bed and wait for Hermione to finish getting ready, leading the way out of the dormitory and into the common room when she does.

We meet Harry and Ron in the common room, and together we head for breakfast, nervous for what wretched _Daily Prophet_ article Percy might be involved in. When the delivery owl delivers Hermione her copy of the _Prophet_ , I expect her to look through the newspaper very carefully, searching for the article. On the contrary, however, the owl had barely cleared the top of the milk jug when Hermione lets out a gasp and flattens the newspaper, allowing us to see the alrge photograph of Dolores Umbridge, smiling widely and blinking slowly underneath the headline.

_MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATION REFORM_

_DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST EVER HIGH INQUISITOR_

"Umbridge - 'High Inquisitor'?" Harry says darkly, a piece of toast slipping from between his fingers. "What does that mean?"

"'In a surprise move last night,'" Hermione begins reading from the article, "'the Ministry of Magic passed a new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"'The Minister has been growing uneasy about the going-ons at Hogwarts for some time,' said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. 'He is now voicing concerns, raised by concerned parents, who feel as though the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve of.'

"This is not the first time in recent weeks that the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, has used new laws to effect improvements at the wizarding school. As of August 30th, Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two has been passed, to ensure that, in the event of the Headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for the teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person.

"'That's how Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts,' said Weasley last night. 'Dumbledore couldn't find anyone, so the Minister put in Umbridge, and, of course, she's been an immediate success-''"

"She's been a WHAT?" Harry demands loudly.

"Wait, it gets worse," Hermione says grimly, before continuing, "''-an immediate success, totally revolutionizing the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts.'

"It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalized with the passing of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three, which creates the new position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor.

"'This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling falling standards at Hogwarts,' said Weasley. 'The Inquisitor will have the power to inspect her fellow educators and make sure they are up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position along with her teaching post and we are delighted to say that she has accepted.'

"The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic reports from parents of students at Hogwarts.

"'I feel much easier knowing that Dumbledore has been subjected to fair and objective evaluation,' said Lucius Malfoy, 41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. 'Many of us with our children's best interests at our hearts have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and are glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation.'

"Among those eccentric decisions are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments preciously described in this newspaper, such as werewolf Remus Lupin, half-giant Rubeus Hagrid, and delusional ex-Auror, Mad-Eye Moody.

 

"Rumors abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the prestigious school of Hogwarts.

"'I think the appointment of High Inquisitor is the first step of ensuring that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose our confidence,' said a Ministry insider last night.

"Wizengamot elders, Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Odgen, have resigned in protest after the introduction of the post of High Inquisitor at Hogwarts.

"'Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office,' said Madam Marchbanks. 'This is a further, disgusting attempt to discredit Albus Dumbledore.'

"(For a full recount of Madam Marchbanks alleged links to subversive goblin groups, turn to page seventeen)"

Upon finishing reading, Hermione looks up at Harry, Ron and I, eyes bright and breathing fast.

"So, now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this 'Educational Decree' and now we're stuck with her! And now he's given her the power to inspect other teachers! I can't believe this, this is outrageous!"

"I know it is," Harry agrees, clenching his fist, undoubtedly looking down at the faint, yet still visible scar that Umbridge had forced him to etch on his skin.

Shaking my head and clenching my hands into fists, I look over at the staff table; when my eyes land on Umbridge, hatred courses through me. And then my eyes land on McGonagall. A grin crosses my face very slowly, and, unable to help myself, I let out a laugh. And once I start, I can't stop, and I start laughing with very little control.

"What's so funny?" Hermione snaps.

Grinning and trying to stifle laughs, I look back at the three and find them looking at me with confused and rather irritable expressions. This, for some weird reason, makes it even more difficult to stop myself from laughing.

"I hope Umbridge inspects McGonagall while we have her," I say, my grin widening. "Imagine the look on McGonagall's face if that old hag tries to tell her anything about her teaching - or tell her anything about her _anything_ really. That'll be something for the ages, that will."

"Well, come on, then," Hermione says, getting to her feet, "we have to get going. If she's inspecting Binns' class we don't want to be late..."

But Umbridge isn't at Binns' class. The lesson goes on just as it normally would - in other words, it's dreadfully boring. Umbridge isn't at Potions, either, where Snape hands back the essays. Mine has a large, spiky, black 'A' scrawled on the top right corner of it.

"I have awarded you the grades you would've received had you presented this during your OWL," Snape explains with a smirk, as he sweeps among us, handing back the homework. "This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect during the examination."

Upon finishing handing back the homework, he walks to the front of the class and turns on his heel to face his students.

"The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort in this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or shall I have to start handing out detentions to the dunces who get a 'D'."

He smirks as Malfoy says in a carrying whisper, "Some people got a 'D'? Ha!"

As we begin brewing a Strengthening Solution, I read each line of the instruction twice, very determined to not mess up on anything this time around. It's just when I'm performing the final instruction, that Snape sweeps over to inspect my cauldron. He looks down into it for several seconds, before sweeping away, clearly meaning that this time he has found nothing to criticize.

I smile in a self-satisfied way, completing the final instruction with an extra boost of confidence; no comment from Snape is as good as a compliment, when it comes to me.

"Well, that wasn't as bad as last week, was it?" Hermione says as we walk up the steps out of the dungeons and walk across the Entrance Hall to lunch. "And the homework didn't go too badly, did it?"

When neither Ron nor Harry reply to this, and I only mutter, "Guess not, no," she presses on.

"I mean, all right, I didn't expect the top grade, not when he's marking to OWL standard, but a pass is quite encouraging at this stage, wouldn't you say?"

Harry makes a non-committal noise in his throat, and I get the distinct feeling that he did not pass.

"Of course, a lot can happen between now and the exam, we've got plenty of time to improve, but the grades we've got now are a baseline, aren't they? Something we can build on..."

We sit down at the Gryffindor table.

"Obviously, I'd have been thrilled if I got an 'O'-"

"Hermione," Ron says sharply, "if you want to know what grades we got, you can just ask us."

"I don't - I didn't mean - well, if you want to tell me-"

"I got a 'P'," Ron says, ladling soup into his bowl. "Happy?"

"Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of," says Fred, who had arrived with George and Lee and sits down on my right. "Nothing wrong with a good, healthy 'P'."

"But," Hermione begins, "doesn't 'P' stand for..."

"'Poor,' yeah," Lee nods. "Still, better than 'D', isn't it? 'Dreadful'?"

Harry has a sudden coughing fit. I look round at him, eyebrows raised, and get a bit of a hunch of what he got on the homework. When he meets my eye, however, I just smile slightly and look away. Hermione, meanwhile, is still in full flow about OWL grades.

"So top grade's 'O' for 'Outstanding'." she's saying, "and then there's 'A'-"

"No, there's 'E'," George corrects her, "for 'Exceeds Expectations'. And I've always thought that Fred and I deserved an 'E' in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by showing up."

We all laugh, except for Hermione, who pushes on.

"So, there's 'A' for 'Acceptable' after 'E', and that's the last passing grade, isn't it?"

"Yep," Fred confirms, nodding.

"Then you get 'P' for 'Poor'-" Ron continues, throwing his hands up in the air in mock celebration- "and 'D' for 'Dreadful'."

"And then there's 'T'," George reminds him.

"'T'?" Hermione repeats, looking appalled. "Even lower than a 'D'? What on earth does 'T' stand for?"

"'Troll'," George replies promptly.

I look at Hermione's appalled expression and imagine trying to conceal from Hermione that I had gotten all 'T's in my OWL's. This thought on its own would be enough motivation for even the laziest student to study.

"You lot had an inspection yet?" Fred asks.

"Not yet, no," I shake my head. "You?"

"Just now, before lunch," George replies. "Charms."

"How'd it go?" Harry asks.

Fred shrugs.

"Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on her clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia about how the classes usually were, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it."

"I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down," George says, "he usually gets everyone through their exams all right."

"Who've you got this afternoon?" Fred asks.

"Trelawney-" Harry begins.

"A 'T' if I ever saw one," Fred comments.

"-and Umbridge herself," Harry finishes.

"Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today," George says. "Angelina'll go mad if you miss anymore Quidditch practices."

Harry doesn't have to wait until Defence Against the Dark Arts to have his temper tested by Umbridge, however. Just as I'm pulling out my dream diary, Ron nudges me, and looking around, I find Umbridge emerging through the trapdoor in the floor. The class, which had been talking cheerily, falls silent immediately. The abrupt silence makes Professor Trelawney, who had been handing out copies of _The Dream Oracle_ , look around.

"Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney," Umbridge says, with her irritating smile. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the date and time of my inspection?"

Trelawney nods curtly, turns her back on Umbridge, and continues handing out books, looking disgruntled. Still smiling, Umbridge grabs the back of the armchair closest to her, pulls it to the front of the class so that it's only a few inches behind Trelawney's seat, and sits down, taking a clipboard from her flowery bag and looking up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin. Trelawney pulls her shawls more tightly around herself, her hands trembling slightly, surveying the class through her hugely magnifying lenses.

"We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today," she says, in a brave attempt of her usual mystic tones, though her voice is shaking. "Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each other's latest nighttime visions with the aid of the Oracle."

She makes to sweep to her seat, but see Umbridge sitting beside it, and quickly veers towards Parvati and Lavender, who are already deep in conversation about Parvati's latest dream.

Glancing at Umbridge as discreetly as I can, I move over to Neville's table, taking my textbook and dream diary along with me. Umbridge is already scribbling down notes on her clipboard. After a few minutes, she gets to her feet and starts to pace the room in Trelawney's wake, listening to conversations and occasionally asking questions.

"Come on, I thought of a dream last time, you go," I say. "And quickly, in case that old toad comes along."

"Oh, I don't know..." Neville said, looking around thoughtfully. "I think - I think one time I dreamt that Trevor got eaten by Mrs. Norris..."

"Well, that cat _is_ evil," I comment, flipping through _The Dream Oracle_. "Okay, so we've got to add your age and to the date you had the dream, then add the numbers of letters in the subject... would that be 'Trevor' or 'Mrs. Norris'? It'd be Trevor, wouldn't it? Yeah, Trevor... when did you have the dream?"

"I dunno," Neville replied. "I don't even know if I even actually _had_ the dream-"

"Oh, bugger," I whisper, looking over Neville's shoulder. "Quick, they're coming, pretend you know what you're doing - all right, let's say you had this on Thursday..."

I hastily scribble down calculations, glancing at the two professors who are now approaching our table. As Trelawney examines and makes predictions from the contents of Neville's dream diary, occasionally asking questions, I cast furtive looks at Umbridge, who is watching and continuing to scribble down notes on her clipboard.

When Trelawney moves on to my dream diary, she can't get very far when Umbridge interrupts, asking a question, having looked up from her clipboard.

"Now," she begins, "you've been teaching this post how long, exactly?"

Trelawney scowls at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, ans though protecting herself from the indignity of inspection. When she decides that the question is not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, Trelawney replies, rather stiffly, "Nearly sixteen years."

"Quite a period," Umbridge remarks, making another note on her clipboard. "And it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?"

"That's right," Trelawney answers shortly.

Umbridge makes another note on her clipboard.

"And you are the great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?"

"Yes," Trelawney replies, holding her head a little higher.

Another note on the clipboard.

"But I think - correct me if I'm mistaken - that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?"

"These things often skip - er - three generations," Trelawney said.

Umbridge's toadlike smile widens.

"Of course," she says sweetly, making yet another note. "Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?" and she looks up enquiringly, still smiling.

Trelawney stiffens, looking as though she's unable to believe her ears.

"I don't understand you," she says, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her neck.

"I'd like you to make a prediction for me," Umbridge says very clearly.

At this point, I'm not the only person watching them. Most people are not staring, transfixed, as Trelawney draws herself up to her full height, her beads and bangles clinking.

"The Inner Eye does not See upon command!" she says, scandalized.

"I see," Umbridge says softly, making another note.

"I but - but... wait!" Trelawney says suddenly, with an attempt at her usual mystic tones, but the effect is ruined due to the fact that her voice is shaking with anger. "I... I think I do see something... something that concerns you... why, I sense something... dark... some grave peril..."

Trelawney points a shaking finger at Umbridge, who continues to smile blandly at Trelawney, eyebrows raised.

"I am afraid... I am afraid that you are in grave danger!" Trelawney finishes dramatically.

 _Falling back on what she knows best, I see,_ I note, but can't help but feel rather bad for her.

There's a pause at her words. Umbridge surveys Trelawney for a moment.

"Right," Umbridge says softly, scribbling away at her clipboard once more. "Well, if that's really the best you can do..."

She turns away, leaving Trelawney rooted to her spit, her chest heaving, still holding my dream diary. After a moment, she snaps out of her stupor, puts my dream diary back on the table rather aggressively, and swoops down upon Harry and Ron.

"Well?" she demands, snapping her long fingers under Harry's nose, uncharacteristically brisk. "Let me see the start you've made on your dream diary, please."

She interprets Harry's dreams at the top of her voice, all of them - even the ones including things such as eating porridge - apparently foretelling a gruesome and early death, as Umbridge stands a little way off, taking notes all the while. When the bell rings, Umbridge is the first to descend the silver ladder and is already waiting for us when we arrive at our Defence Against the Dar Arts lesson ten minutes later.

She's humming and smiling to herself as we enter the room. Harry, Ron, and I fill in Hermione, who had been in Arithmancy, on what happened in Divination, but before she can ask questions, Umbridge calls on us to order and the room falls silent.

"Wands away," she instructs us all with a smile, and those who were hopeful enough to take them out,, sadly store them back in their bags. "As we finished Chapter One last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence 'Chapter To, Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."

Still smiling that wide, self-satisfied smile that makes me feel sick, she sits down at her desk. The class lets out an audible sigh as everyone, as one, turns to page nineteen of their books. I wonder vaguely if there's enough chapters of the book to keep us occupied for the entire year and am just about to check the table of contents when I notice Hermione's hand in the air. Hermione raising her hand isn't necessarily a rare occurrence, but considering what happened the last time Hermione raised her hand in this class, I can't help but feel curious.

Umbridge notices Hermione's hand, as well, and seems to have developed a new tactic to handle this situation. Instead of pretending she hasn't noticed, she gets up out of her seat and walks around the front row of desks until she and Hermione are face to face, clearly not trying to draw attention to Hermione.

"What is it this time, Miss Granger?" she asks quietly.

"I've already read Chapter Two," Hermione says simply.

"Then proceed to Chapter Three,"

"I've read that, too. I've read the whole book,"

Umbridge blinks, clearly shocked, but manages to recover almost instantly.

"Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counter-jinxes in Chapter Fifteen."

"He says that counter-jinxes are improperly named," Hermione replies promptly. "He says 'counter-jinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable."

Umbridge raises her eyebrows, and it's clear that, against her will, she's impressed. I have to fight the urge not to beam at Hermione.

"But I disagree," Hermione continues.

Umbridge's eyebrows rise a little higher and her gaze becomes noticeably colder.

"You disagree?" she says, her voice still quiet.

"Yes, I do," Hermione nods, who, unlike Umbridge, is speaking in a clear, carrying voice that has now gotten the attention of the rest of the class. "Mr. Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when used defensively."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Umbridge says, now forgetting to keep quiet and straightening up. "Well, I am afraid that it is Mr. Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters in this classroom, Miss Granger."

"But-" Hermione begins.

"That is enough," Umbridge says. she walks to the front of the room and stands before the class, all jauntiness from the beginning of the lesson gone. "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor house."

There's an outbreak of muttering at this.

"What for?" Harry demands angrily.

"Don't you get involved!" Hermione whispers.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," Umbridge replies smoothly. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students for their opinions on matters about which hey understand very little. Your previous teachers of this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them - with the exception of Professor Quirrell, who at least did appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects - would have passed Ministry inspection-"

"Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher," Harry says loudly, "there was just the minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out the back of his head."

This is followed by one of the loudest silences I'd ever heard. It's Umbridge who breaks it.

"I think another week of detention would do you good, Potter."

 

***

 

That night, as Hermione and I are getting ready for bed, I note that she looks very thoughtful and just a bit nervous.

"Something on your mind, Hermione?" I ask idly.

"Just - just worried about Harry, that's all," she replies.

"Yeah, so am I," I nod, before adding, just a bit uncertainly. "And that's it, is it?"

She's silent for so long that I'm tempted to repeat the question.

"Well, there is something else," she admits, but doesn't elaborate.

"Go on, then," I say, plopping down on my bed and gesturing for her to continue.

Again, she's silent for an extremely long time.

"It's about Umbridge," she begins. "And the way she teaches - her and her _Ministry approved_ rubbish," she continues disdainfully. "It's - it's not teaching us anything! Not anything _useful_ , anyway. I've read the book, and the whole thing's useless. And with You-Know-Who back and everything... well, it's like Harry said, what's the theory going to do when someone like him is back?"

"I mean, I'm _sure_ that Voldemort will back off if we show a clear knowledge and understanding of the theory of jinxes," I say sarcastically, putting on an impression of Umbridge's voice.

"Exactly," Hermione nods, returning my sarcasm. "Which is why I've been thinking... maybe we should just... just do it ourselves."

"Do what ourselves?" I ask, regarding her suspiciously.

"Learn Defence Against the Dark Arts ourselves,"

A long silence follows her words. For a moment, I think that she's still being sarcastic and that I just missed it. But she continues to stare at me earnestly, clearly waiting for me to reply, and it becomes very clear to me that she's being completely serious with what she's saying.

"So you're telling me you reckon that we should teach ourselves Defence Against the Dark Arts?" I ask her disbelievingly.

"Yes," she says firmly, nodding, "that's exactly what I'm telling you."

"But _how_?" I ask, looking at her cluelessly. "How would we even pull that off? Who would teach us any of it to begin with?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Hermione says.

I stare at her for a very long time. I'm just about to tell her that it's not obvious at all, when it hits me who she has in mind.

"No - no - you don't mean - you're not thinking?" I ask. "You don't mean Harry?"

"Yes, I do," she says.

"But how would he - how - what-" I stutter, but the more I think about it, the more I think that Hermione might have a point with this.

"Who else is there?" Hermione says simply. "He's the only one here who really knows what it's like to be out there fighting the Dark Arts - especially someone like You-Know-Who. I mean, except for Dumbledore and other teachers, obviously, but it'd be impossible to ask them, of course, and I really think that Harry would be able to pull this off."

The room is silent once more, as I look at her contemplatively, and the more I think about this and the idea of Harry teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, the better the idea seems.

"That is a good idea," I admit, then allow myself to get more excited. "In fact, it's a brilliant idea!"

"You think so?" she asks, looking relieved.

"Yeah, yeah I do," I say, nodding. "Who would he be teaching, though? Just me, you, and Ron, or what?"

"Well," she begins, slightly hesitant, but more excited than anything, gaining more confidence with the knowledge that her idea is not being rejected. "I was thinking that we could get a couple more people. Not many, of course," she adds quickly, "since some people might go ratting us out to Umbridge, or something - not that we're doing anything _wrong_. I've checked three times and the rules say nothing about forming study groups, which, when you think about it, is all this really is - but still, I don't think we should go parading about it, do you?"

"No, you're right," I agree. "And then there's the fact that some people think Harry's a nutter, so they might not want to be taught by him..."

"Right," Hermione nods. "But, you know, I think that this could be a good opportunity to get more people on Harry's side. I mean, I think that if more people heard what he had to say, they might be more convinced that he and Dumbledore have been right this entire time."

"Good point," I say. "Who should we get, then?"

"Um, Ginny, Dean, Fred, George, Parvati, Jace, Ernie Macmillan, Lee Jordan," she begins, looking thoughtful.

"We could invite Luna Lovegood," I add. "She believes Harry and everything, doesn't she?"

"Yes - yes, that's true," she says, though she looks slightly reluctant.

"And we can think of more people later," I continue thoughtfully. "And besides, we can get people to invite friends and stuff. Like, Ginny can invite Michael, and I know Michael and Jace are friends, so if they're both on Harry's side, then there's a chance that their friends might be, too... really, we should be able to get a _decent_ amount of people, at least just to start. Convincing some of them might be a bit hard, but really... I think we can manage it."

"Exactly," Hermione says happily. "The biggest question I have is _where_ we're going to do all of this."

"Oh - oh, yeah," I say, my posture slouching slightly at the realization that this might be a very big problem. "But, I mean, we can worry about that when we get there. There's still loads to do before we can officially start anything. We've got to get people interested and meet up with them - I reckon the first Hogsmeade weekend would be best - and convince people. And then we've got to convince Harry. I have the feeling he won't exactly be wetting himself with excitement to do this."

"Yes, I figured that too," she nods, looking troubled. "But I'm sure with a bit of convincing, he'll be glad to do it, won't he? I mean, it's a way to go against Umbridge and the Ministry and everything without getting himself thrown in detention with that horrible woman, so I'm sure that'll be a selling point."

 _Unless we get caught,_ I can't help but think, but decide that it isn't a good idea to say this and bring down the morale so quickly.

"We could ask him tomorrow," I say suddenly. "He'll be all angry about Umbridge, since he'll have just gotten out of detention with her, so he'll be more likely to want to do something to rebel against her, so he might be more likely to say yes."

"Or he'll be in a worse mood than usual, and therefore more likely to say no," Hermione points out.

I frown slightly at this, looking away from her. I hadn't thought of that.

"Oh, yeah. Maybe," I concede, but then shake this off, looking back up at her. "Still, it's worth a shot, isn't it? It's as good of a time as any."

"Yeah, I suppose that's true," Hermione says, then nods, looking as though she's convinced herself. "All right, tomorrow, then,"

"Excellent," I say happily.

Before we can get anymore of a word in, Lavender and Parvati walk into the room, and Hermione quickly changes the subject to the OWL's. Though we intend to invite Parvati to these secret Defence Against the Dark Arts meetings, it'd be unwise to tell many people about it until we've convinced Harry, and it'd be especially unwise to tell Parvati about it in front of Lavender, who thinks Harry is a liar.

As I fall asleep that night, I can't help but feel excited. Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself in already imagining what these meetings could be like, but it's exciting to know that there's a chance for those of us who are willing to join that we might not end up being completely hopeless against the Dark Arts.

And, admittedly, like Hermione said, it's a nice feeling to know that, after some time, we might be rebelling against Umbridge and the Ministry without them even knowing. Really, there's no greater joy than going against the people you hate.


	24. Inspections

**Ours**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Inspections**

 

The next day, just as George had predicted, once Angelina finds out about Harry receiving another week of detention, she starts yelling so loudly at him that McGonagall sweeps down upon the pair of them from the staff table.

"Miss Johnson, how dare you make such a racket in the Great Hall? Five points from Gryffindor!"

"But, Professor - he's gone and landed himself in detention _again_ -"

"What's this, Potter?" McGonagall says sharply, rounding on Harry. "Detention? From whom?"

"From Professor Umbridge," Harry replies, not meeting McGonagall's eyes.

"Are you telling me," she begins, lowering her voice so that the nearby group of Ravenclaws can't hear, "that after the warning I gave you last Monday you lost your temper in Umbridge's class again?"

"Yes," Harry replies, now looking at the floor.

"Potter, you must get a grip on yourself! You are heading for serious trouble! Another five points from Gryffindor!"

"But - what - Professor, no!" Harry says, looking angry. "I'm already being punished by her, why are you taking points off, as well?"

"Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!" McGonagall says tartly. "No, not another word of complain from you, Potter! As for you, Miss Johnson, you will confine your shouting matches to the Quidditch pitch in the future or risk losing the team captaincy!"

McGonagall strides back to the staff table. Angelina gives Harry a look of deep disgust, before stalking away, at which time Harry flings himself onto the bench beside Ron at the Gryffindor table.

"She's taken five points off Gryffindor, because I'm having my hand sliced open every night! How is that fair, how?"

"I know, mate," Ron says sympathetically, tipping bacon onto Harry's plate, "she's bang out of order."

Hermione, however, rustles the pages of the _Daily Prophet_ and says nothing, and though I don't like that McGonagall has taken points off Gryffindor, I can't help but agree with her warning Harry about losing his temper with Umbridge.

"You think McGonagall was right, do you?" Harry asks angrily.

"I wish she hadn't taken points off, but I think she's right to warn you about losing your temper with Umbridge," Hermione replies.

Harry doesn't speak to her all throughout Charms, something that I try to change, but I forget all about Harry's silent treatment when I walk into Transfiguration, because Umbridge is sitting in the corner of the room with her clipboard in hand.

"Excellent," Ron whispers as we settle into our seats, looking about half as excited as I feel, "Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves."

I grin broadly as McGonagall walks into the room, not giving the slightest hint that she had noticed Umbridge in the room.

"That will do," McGonagall says, and silence falls immediately. "Miss Knight, kindly come here and hand back the homework - Miss Brown, please take this box of mice - don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you - and hand one to each student-"

"Hem, hem," Umbridge says, that silly little cough that drives me up the wall.

McGonagall ignores her, and, feeling so pleased by this, I get up and begin handing back the essays perhaps a little too eagerly. Once I reach my essay, I feel a rush of satisfaction to see that I've managed an 'O'.

"Right, then, everyone, listen closely - Dean Thomas, if you do that to your mouse again I will put you in detention," McGonagall says, once I've finishes handing out the essays and Lavender has finished giving everyone a mouse, "most of you have now successfully Vanished your snails, and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be-"

"Hem, hem," Umbridge repeats.

"Yes?" McGonagall says, turning around and looking at Umbridge, her eyebrows so close together they resemble one long, severe line.

"I was just wondering, Professor, if you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspect-?"

"Obviously I received it, otherwise I would have asked you what you were doing in my classroom," McGonagall says, and turns her back on Umbridge without another word. Many students exchange looks of glee, and if I was smiling before, it's nothing compared to now. "As I was saying: today we shall me practicing the altogether more difficult Vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell-"

"Hem, hem," Umbridge says once again, and I wonder how many times I''m going to hear that sound before I lose it completely.

"I wonder," McGonagall begins in cold fury, turning back to Umbridge, "how you plan on gaining an idea of my usual teaching methods when you continue to interrupt me? You see, I generally do not permit people to talk when I am talking."

Umbridge looks as though she's just been slapped in the face, and her expression makes me feel delighted. She straightens the parchment on her clipboard and begins scribbling furiously. McGonagall turns back to the class, looking supremely unconcerned.

"As I was saying: the Vanishing Spell becomes more complicated with the complexity of the animal being Vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So - you know the incantation, let me see what you can do..."

"How can she lecture me about not losing my temper with Umbridge!" Harry demands, though he's grinning; clearly, his anger at McGonagall has evaporated.

Umbridge doesn't follow McGonagall around the classroom as she had done to Trelawney, probably because she realizes that McGonagall would not have it. She does, however, take many notes from her corner of the classroom, and when McGonagall tells the class to pack up, she rises from her seat, she looks grim.

"Well, it's a start," Ron says, dropping the wriggling mouse tail into the box Lavender is passing around.

As we file out of the classroom, I'm nudges by Hermione, and I look around at where she's pointing to find Umbridge approaching McGonagall's desk. She, Harry, Ron, and I deliberately hang back to listen to their conversation.

"How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" Umbridge asks.

"Thirty-nine years this December," McGonagall replies briskly, snapping her bag shut.

Umbridge makes a note on the clipboard. In the presence of McGonagall, it does not seem as intimidating as it had with Trelawney.

"Very well," Umbridge says. "You will see the results of your inspection in ten days' time."

"I can hardly wait," McGonagall says, in a voice of cold indifference. "Hurry up, you four," she adds, sweeping Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I in front of her.

I smile faintly at her and I swear I see McGonagall returning it.

When we walk down to Care of Magical Creatures, I'm surprises to see Umbridge waiting for the class beside Professor Grubbly-Plank, clipboard in hand as usual.

"You do not usually take this class, is that correct?" Umbridge asks Grubbly-Plank, when the class has gathered around the trestle table where the Bowtruckles around, scrabbling around for woodlice like so many live twigs.

"Quite correct," Grubbly-Plank answers, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid."

I exchange uneasy looks with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Malfoy is whispering with Crabbe and Goyle, increasing the feeling of nervousness; no doubt Malfoy would jump on the opportunity to say some nasty things about Hagrid to Umbridge.

"Hmm," Umbridge says, dropping her voice, though I can still hear her quite clearly. "I wonder - the Headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me information on the matter - can you tell me what's causing Professor Hagrid's extended leave of absence?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Malfoy looking up eagerly at the two professors, watching them closely.

"'Fraid I can't," Grubbly-Plank replies breezily. "Don't know anything more about it than you do. Got a letter from Dumbledore asking if I wanted a couple of weeks' teaching work. I accepted. That's about as much as I know. Well... shall I get started, then?"

"Yes, please do," Umbridge says, making a note on the clipboard.

Umbridge takes a different method of evaluation this time around, wandering among the students and questions them on magical creatures. Most people are able to answer well, something that lifts my spirits. It's good to know that the class isn't failing Hagrid.

"Overall," Umbridge begins, returning to Grubbly-Plank after interrogating Dean Thomas for an exceedingly long time, "how do you, as a temporary staff member - an objective outside, I suppose you might say - how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?"

"Oh, yes, Dumbledore's excellent," Grubbly-Plank says heartily. "Yes, I'm very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed."

Looking politely incredulous, Umbridge makes another note on the clipboard, before saying, "And what are you planning to cover with this class over the course of the year - assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?"

"Oh, I'll take them through the creatures that come up most during the OWL," Grubbly-Plank says. "Not much left to do - they've studied Unicorns and Nifflers. I thought we'd cover Porlocks and Kneazles, make sure they can recognize Crups and Knarls, you know..."

"Well, you seem to know what you're doing, at any rate," Umbridge says, making another note on her clipboard. The emphasis she pus on 'you' annoys me greatly, but this annoyance is nothing in comparison to what I feel at the question she asks Goyle. "Now, I hear there have been injuries in the class?"

Goyle grins stupidly. Malfoy hastens to answer Umbridge's question.

"That was me," he says. "I got slashed by a Hippogriff."

"A Hippogriff?" Umbridge repeats, now scribbling frantically on the clipboard.

"Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do," Harry says angrily.

Ron, Hermione, and I let out groans. Umbridge turns her head very slowly in Harry's direction.

"Another night's detention," she says, very softly. "Well, thank you very much, Professor Grubbly-Plank, I think that's all I need to see here. You will be receiving the results of your inspection within ten days."

"Jolly good," Grubbly-Plank nods, and Umbridge sets off across the lawn and back to the castle.

 

***

 

Later on that night, having finished my homework earlier than usual, I walk over to Fred and George, and engage the two of them in conversation, and soon we were talking and laughing, and I can't help but feel pleased that I'm much less tense than I was before.

"You know, we were thinking-" Fred begins.

"Never a good sign," I interject, grinning.

"Shut it, Knight," George says, laughing. "Anyway, we were thinking: Filch's office, we could put those Exploding Whizz Poppers to the test..."

"Yes, I suppose we could," I agree, a mischievous smile crossing my face. With all the terrible things going on within the castle, one familiar act of rule-breaking wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing - at least, not for me. "When?"

"We were thinking tomorrow," Fred replies.

"Tomorrow? Really?" I ask, straightening up and looking at them in surprise. "They're all ready to go, then?"

"Well-" Fred begins, glancing at his twin.

"Well, that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow slightly at the pair.

"Well, there's still a bit of - ah - tweaking that needs to be done to it before it's ready," George says.

"What kind of tweaking?" I ask suspiciously.

They exchange glances again, before returning their gaze back to me.

"Well, I mean, sometimes before you set them off, they blow up right in your face," Fred replied. "Blew my eyebrows off, once, they did."

"Now that'd be a sight to see," I say. "Please tell me you got a picture, George!"

"Actually, yes, I did!" George says, grinning.

"Did you?" I demand. "Well, go on, then, show me it!"

"Or you can not show her it," Fred interjects. "We can do that."

"I like my idea better," I insist.

"So do I, I think," George adds, his smile now mischievous. "I'll be right back."

With that, George gets up and bounds across the common room and to the boys' dormitory, ignoring Fred calling him back. I rest my face on my hand, waiting for George to come back and smiling triumphantly at Fred.

"Oh, shut up," he says to me, though not very angrily.

"I haven't said anything!" I protest, though I smile wider.

"You might as well have," he insists, shaking his head at me.

"Well, that's hardly fair," I say.

He just looks away, looking so pouty that I really can't take him very seriously. I let out a laugh, looking away from him and covering my hand in a vain attempt to stifle it.

"If it helps," I begin, holding back my laughter with difficulty, "I'm sure you look _adorable_ without eyebrows."

"Oh, he's more than adorable," a voice says, and I turn to find George behind me, waving around a picture of an eyebrowless Fred.

Laughing, I take the picture from George and examine it, and the realization that Fred in the picture if shifting around to make his lack of eyebrows less noticeable only makes me laugh harder.

"See, now what's got you so upset, Fred?" I say, between laughs. "You _do_ look adorable."

"It looks - so - _weird_ ," George manages to splutter through his laughter.

"I'm still better looking than you, mate," Fred says to his twin, though he's grinning and even lets out a few laughs at the sight of the photo.

"His face!" George insists, falling into his chair and clutching a stitch in his chest. "It looks  - his face - it looks so funny!"

"George, you're going to have to get me a copy of this," I insist. "For Christmas, my birthday, anything."

"I'm on it," George says very seriously, nodding, having managed to calm down.

"Oh, quiet, you two, or it'll be your eyebrows that are blown off," Fred says threateningly.

This only amused George and I more.

"Oh, please, you'd never do that to us," I say confidently. "You love us too much, don't you?"

"If you say so," Fred snorts, though it's obvious that he's joking.

With the photograph still being pointed and laughed at every now and then, Fred, George, and I manage to work out a way to fix the Exploding Whizz Poppers. Shortly after this, they both decide to go to bed. I try to discreetly take the photo of Fred before they notice, but Fred snatches it out of my hands before I manage to succeed.

"Nice try, Knight, but it takes a lot more than that to get past Fred Weasley," he says matter-of-factly, waving the picture around. "I'm always one step ahead."

"I suppose so," I say, sighing and sinking back in my chair, pretending to be defeated. I point to his feet, saying, "Speaking of being one step ahead, your shows are untied."

Fred looks down at his feet, and I use the moment of distraction to take the picture from his grasp. He lets out a noise of protest, but it's too late, as I've jumped out of my seat and out of his reach, holding the picture tightly in my hands.

"What was that about being one step ahead, Weasley?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and smiling in satisfaction.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Fred says. I just shrug. "It was really just an amateur trick."

"But you fell for it, so what does that say about you, hmm?" I counter.

"Are you calling me an amateur, Knight?" he asks.

"Well, I'm certainly not calling you an expert," I reply.

"Oh, now you've crossed the line," he says, and steps forward.

I take another step back, and when he makes a grab for the picture, I jump onto the chair behind me, extending my arm upwards as far as it can go, out of Fred's reach.

"See, now how does it feel to be the short one?" I ask, smirking at his frustrated expression.

"Terrible, actually," he replies seriously. "Is this what you have to put with all the time? I'm truly sorry."

With that, he takes my free hand and tugs on it, so that I loose my balance and fall over, despite all of my desperate arm flailing. Before I can hit the floor, however, Fred manages to catch me and pull me upright - but not before taking the picture back.

"See what I mean? Always one step ahead," he says, smirking, as George starts laughing.

"You're a prat," I declare, punching him in the arm, but laughing along with George. "It was that clever of a move."

"And yet you still fell for it," he points out, mocking my tone. " _Literally_."

"I've changed my mind," I say. "You're not just _a_ prat, you're _the_ prat."

"You know you love me," he says smugly.

"You wish," I state.

"You wish I wish," he replies. "Goodnight, Hazel."

"Goodnight, you gits," I say, grinning and waving at the pair of them.

They laugh and wave back, before making their way across the common room and disappearing behind the door to the boys' dormitories. Grinning, I look around the common room, before finding Ron and Hermione sitting at a table and walking over to them.

"What's that?" I ask, sinking into a chair across from them and pointing at a small bowl full of yellow liquid in front of Hermione.

"It's a solution of strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles," Hermione replies. "It's for Harry's hand, to make it feel better."

I nod in understanding.

"Anyway, what's up?" I add.

"We - we were talking," Hermione begins. "You know - about Umbridge. About how we need to do something about her."

She gives me a meaningful look, and I understand immediately that she wants to introduce the idea of Harry teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts to Ron.

"I personally think we should poison her," Ron says seriously.

"An excellent idea, if only there wasn't the possibility of extremely negative aftereffects," I say wistfully.

"Like what?" Ron asks, clearly not seeing what negative things could come out of poisoning Umbridge.

"Like getting chucked into Azkaban for poisoning a high up member of the Ministry," I reply.

"Oh, like anybody would miss her," Ron says, waving a hand absently. "Except maybe my prat of a brother, but he hardly counts."

"Very true," I agree, nodding.

"I wasn't thinking poison, and neither were you, Hazel," Hermione interjects, giving me a pointed look.

"Also true," I say.

"Oh, so you've discussed this already?" Ron asks, raising an eyebrow at us. "Why am I not surprised?" he says, when we just shrug and nod. "Go on, then, what were you two thinking?"

"We were thinking about doing something about how-" Hermione begins, but at that moment, Harry walks through the door, and we fall inexplicably silent as Harry walks over to us.

I notice that the scarf wrapped around his hand is soaked with blood and feel a pang of pity, but mostly just a rush of anger and hatred for Umbridge and her cruel forms of punishment.

"Here," Hermione says anxiously, pushing the bowl towards Harry once he sits down beside me. "It's a solution of strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles, it should help."

Harry places the bleeding hand onto it and an expression of relief immediately crosses his face, much to my own relief. Crookshanks leaps onto his lap.

"Thanks," Harry says, scratching Crookshanks behind the ears with his left hand.

"I still reckon you should complain about this," Ron says in a low voice.

"No," Harry says flatly.

"McGonagall would go nuts if she knew-"

"Yeah, she probably would," Harry agrees dully. "And how long d'you reckon it'd take for Umbridge to pass another decree saying that anybody who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?"

Ron opens his mouth to complain, but nothing comes out, and soon he closes his mouth, apparently defeated.

"She's an awful woman," Hermione states in a small voice. "Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron and Hazel when you came in... we've got to do something about her."

"I suggested poison," Ron says grimly.

"Unfortunately, we had to rule it out, though," I add.

"No... I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any Defence from her at all," Hermione says.

"Well, what can we do about that?" Ron asks, yawning. "'S too late, isn't it? She's got the job, she's here to stay. Fudge'll make sure of that."

"Well," Hermione begins tentatively, "you know, Hazel and I were thinking last night..." she shoots Harry a nervous look, before looking at me, and plunges on at my encouraging look, "we were thinking that - maybe the time's come when we should just - just do it ourselves."

"Do what ourselves?" Harry asks suspiciously, his hand still in the essence of Murtlap tentacles.

"Well - learn Defence Against the Dart Arts ourselves," Hermione replies, shooting me another nervous look.

"Come off it," Ron says, groaning. "You want us to do extra work? D'you realize Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week?"

"But this is more important than homework!" Hermione insists earnestly.

Harry and Ron goggle at her.

"I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework!" Ron says, a trace of sarcasm in his words.

"Don't be silly, of course there is," Hermione shakes her head, and I note that her face is alight with a kind of fervour in her that usually only SPEW can get from her. "It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting for us out there. It's about making sure we can really defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year-"

"We can't do much by ourselves, though," Ron points out in a defeated voice. "I mean, all right, we can go to the library and look up jinxes and try and practice them, I suppose-"

"No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books," Hermione says. "We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong."

"If you're talking about Lupin..." Harry says.

"No, not him," I say, shaking my head. "He's busy with the Order and everything, and even if he wasn't, we could only see him on Hogsmeade weekends, and that's not nearly enough. But I think who Hermione's got in mind is just as good."

"Who?" Harry asks, frowning.

Hermione and I exchange looks, before the former heaves a very deep sigh.

"Isn't it obvious?" she says. "We're talking about you, Harry."

There's a moment of silence at this, and that's when I note that the entire common room is silent. Confused by this, I look around and realize that the room is empty except for us. I frown slightly, not knowing how I could have not noticed this, before turning back to Harry, who's looking from Hermione to me.

"About me what?" he asks blankly.

"About you teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts," I elaborate.

Harry stares at me, before looking over to Ron, an exasperated expression on his face, but Ron's expression does not match Harry's exasperation; instead, he's frowning slightly, apparently thinking.

"That's an idea," he says slowly.

"What's an idea?" Harry says.

"You," Ron replies. "Teaching us how to do it."

"But..." Harry begins, but then a grin crosses his face. I frown at this, not entirely understanding what's so funny about it. "But I'm not a teacher, I can't-"

"Harry, you're the best in our year in Defence Against the Dark Arts," Hermione insists.

"Me?" Harry says, now grinning more broadly than ever. "No, I'm not, you two've beaten me in every test-"

"No, we haven't," I say, frowning slightly and looking at Hermione, before looking back at Harry. "You beat us in third year - you know, the only test we both sat and had a teacher that actually knew what they were doing?"

"We got the same mark in that!" Harry points out, nodding at me.

"All right, fine, but we're not talking about test results," I insist. "Look at what you've done! Neither of us have ever done what you have."

"What do you mean?" Harry says.

"You know what, I'm not sure if I want someone this stupid teaching me," Ron says to Hermione and I, smirking slightly. He turns back to Harry. "Let's think," he says, pulling a face very similar to what Goyle looks like when he's concentrating, "Uh... first year you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who..."

"But that was luck," Harry protests, "it wasn't skill-"

"Second year," Ron interrupts, "you killed the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle."

"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up, I-"

"Third year," Ron says, raising his voice, "you fought off about a hundred Dementors at once-"

"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't-" Harry begins.

"Last year," Ron continues, almost shouting now, "you fought off You-Know-Who again-"

"Listen to me!" Harry says, almost angrily. "Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck - I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help-"

But his words just make me smirk, not knowing how he could be so oblivious.

"Don't sit there grinning at me like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I?" he says heatedly. "I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of it because I was brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because - because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right - but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing - STOP LAUGHING!"

He jumps to his feet, causing the bowl of Murtlap essence to fall to the floor and smash. Crookshanks streaks under the sofa, and my smile vanishes.

"You don't know what it's like! You - neither of you - you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class, or something? The whole time you're sure there's nothing between you and dying except - except your own brains or guts, or whatever - like you can think straight when you're about a nanosecond from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die - they've never taught us that in our classes, what it's like to deal with stuff like that - and you two sit there acting like I'm a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up - you just don't get it, it could've easily been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me-"

"We weren't saying anything like that, mate," Ron says, looking aghast. "We weren't having a go at Diggory, we didn't - you've got the wrong end of the-"

Ron breaks off, though I hardly notice, as I'm watching Harry very closely as silence falls in the room once more.

"But that's the thing, Harry. We _don't_ know," I say very slowly and quietly, though I look at Harry squarely, "but you do. And that's why we need you."

When he doesn't reply, Hermione, who looks stricken, timidly adds, "She's right... you - you're the only one who really knows what it's like... facing... facing V-Voldemort."

I note that it's the first time Hermione has ever said Voldemort's name. Still breathing hard, Harry sinks back into his chair. Hermione and I exchange slightly nervous glances, before looking back at Harry.

"Well, think about it," I say quietly. "Please?"

He nods silently, and I privately feel as though just a promise that he'll consider it is the best that can be asked for in a situation like this. Hermione and I glance at each other again, before she stands up.

"Well, I'm off to bed," Hermione says, her voice clearly as natural as she can make it. "Coming?" she adds to me. I hesitate for a moment, glancing at Harry, before nodding and standing up.

"Goodnight," I say to them, trying to sound casual, and follow Hermione to the door of the girls' dormitories.

Once we reached our dormitory, we're silent for a very long time, before Hermione breaks it.

"Well, that was..." she begins uncertainly. I watch her for a moment as she tries to find the correct words, before finally saying, "a start."

"In all fairness, it could have been worse," I point out. "At least he said he'll think about it."

"Well, hopefully he actually will," Hermione says, and neither of us can find anything to say after that.

"Goodnight," I say, somewhat awkwardly to her, as I crawl into bed and close the curtains of my four poster around me.

"Goodnight," I hear her voice call, and I soon drift into an uneasy sleep.

 

***

 

The next morning, before we go down to the common room, Hermione and I discuss how long we should wait until we bring up the subject of Harry giving Defence Against the Dark Arts again, on the even that Harry doesn't bring it up himself, which we both knew was more likely to happen than anything else. We both know that we can't bring it up himself, which we both knew was more likely to happen than anything else. We both know that we can't bring it up very soon, after how he had blown up the previous night. Besides, he needs a good amount of time to think about it. Really, it isn't the most miniscule of favours that we're asking of him.

We decide to give it two weeks.

And two weeks we wait, in which time Harry no longer has detentions with Umbridge, Ron has gone through four more Quidditch practices and doesn't get yelled at all during the last two, and all three of us are successful in Vanishing mice (Hermione and I even manage to progress to Vanishing kittens). When Hermione and I exchange glances, indicating that it's time to bring it up again, it's a blustery sort of evening near the end of September, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I are in the library, looking up potion ingredients for Snape.

"I was wondering," Hermione says, rather suddenly, "whether you'd thought anymore about Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry."

"Course I have," Harry replies grumpily, "can't forget it, can we, with that hag teaching us-"

"I meant the idea that Hazel, Ron, and-" Hermione begins, but at the alarmed, threatening look that Ron casts her, says, frowning, "-oh, all right, the idea that Hazel and I had, then - about you teaching us."

Harry pauses for a very long time, apparently perusing a page of Asiatic Anti-Venoms, before finally looking up and answering.

"Well," he says slowly, "yeah, I - I've thought about it a bit."

"And?" I say eagerly.

"I dunno," Harry replies, clearly playing for time.

He looks over at Ron.

"I thought it was a good idea from the start," Ron says, clearly keener to pitch into the conversation now that it's clear that Harry isn't going to start shouting again.

Harry shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

"You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, right?"

"Yes, Harry," Hermione says gently, "but all the same, there's no point pretending that you're not good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, because you are. You were the only person last year that could throw off the Imperius Curse completely, you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can't, Viktor always said-"

Ron looks around so quickly that he apparently cricks his neck. I roll my eyes at him as he says, while rubbing his neck, "Yeah? What did Vicky say?"

"Ho ho," Hermione says boredly. "He said that Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn't, and he was in his final year at Durmstrang."

Ron is looking at Hermione suspiciously, Harry's brilliant in Defence Against the Dark Arts appearing to be the very last thing on his mind.

"You're not still in contact with him, are you?" he demands.

"So what if I am?" Hermione says coolly, though her face has turned slightly pink. "I can have a pen-pal if I-"

"He didn't only want to be your pen-pal," Ron says accusingly.

Hermione shakes her head in exasperation, and, ignoring Ron, who is still staring at her, turns back to Harry, "Well, what do you think? Will you teach us?"

"Just you three, yeah?" he says, which I take to be as a yes. At least, for one part of it.

"Well," I begin, slightly anxious, glancing at Hermione, "erm... well, don't get all bothered again, Harry, but... but I really think you should teach anyone that's willing to learn. I mean, we're talking about Defence against _Voldemort_ \- oh, come on, Ron - it doesn't seem fair if we don't at least offer the chance to other people."

Harry pauses for a moment, before saying, "Yeah, but I doubt anybody but you three would want to get taught by me. I'm a nutter, remember?"

"You'd be surprised by how many people want to hear what you've got to say, you know," I insist. "Look," I lean towards him. Hermione follows suit, and Ron, who had still been frowning at Hermione, leans in as well, "you know how the first weekend of October is a Hogsmeade weekend? What d'you reckon if we tell anyone who's interested to meet us at the village and we can talk it over?"

"Why do we have to do it outside of school?" Ron asks.

"Because," Hermione says, returning to her diagram of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage that she is copying down, "I don't think Umbridge would be very happy if she found out what we were up to, do you?"

I can't help but feel triumphant as I return to my own diagram, pleased that we have managed to convince Harry of teaching us, and that, if all goes well, we'll be learning the exact kind of Defence Against the Dark Arts that Fudge was fearful of us learning, right under Umbridge's nose.


	25. The Hog's Head

**Ours**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Hog's Head**

 

As the day of the first Hogsmeade weekend draws closer, Ron, Hermione and I talk to people that we think might be interested to meet us in the Hog's Head, and by the time the morning of the Hogsmeade visit dawns bright but windy, we have a good amount of people that are likely to go. In spite of feeling nervous for what might happen, there's also a feeling that I recognise to be excitement.

"Hazel, can you talk to them?" Hermione whispers to me, as we make our way down to the common room.

"Why me?" I demand. "It was _your_ idea."

"Yes, but... oh, please, Hazel," she says. "You're better at this than I am."

"How would you know - oh, all right, fine," I say, sighing.

"Thank you," she says gratefully, looking satisfied.

After breakfast, everyone going to Hogsmeade queues up in front of Filch, who matches our names to the long list of students who have permission from their parents or guardians to visit the village. When Harry reaches Filch, the caretaker gives a great sniff, as though trying to detect some sort of scent from Harry. I watch in bewilderment, but Filch takes no notice of this, giving a curt nod that sets his jowls aquiver, and Harry walks on, onto the stone steps and the cold, sunny day.

"Er - why was Filch sniffing you?" Ron asks, as he, Harry, Hermione, and I set off at a brisk pace down the wide drive to the gates.

"I suppose he was checking for the smell of Dungbombs," Harry says with a small laugh. "I forgot to tell you..."

He recounts the story of how he had sent Sirius a letter a few weeks ago, until Filch had burst in, demanding to see the letter. I frown at this. Who would tip Filch off, though? I'm not the only one who finds this story to be interesting; Hermione seems very curious about the subject, as well.

"He said that he was tipped off you were ordering Dungbombs? But who would tip him off?"

"I dunno," Harry replies, shrugging. "Maybe Malfoy, he'd think it was a laugh."

Malfoy is a possible option. But I'm leaning more towards Umbridge. One glance with Hermione shows that she's thinking the same thing.

"Malfoy?" she says sceptically. "Well... yes... maybe..."

Of course, it wouldn't be terribly out of character for Malfoy to do something like tip Filch off about Harry ordering Dungbombs... but it seems all the more likely that Umbridge would do something like that, isn't it?

"Where are we going, anyway?" Harry asks, snapping me out of my train of thought. "The Three Broomsticks?"

"Oh, no," I answer, shaking my head, "it's always really packed and noisy there. We've told everyone to meet us in the Hog's Head, the other pub, you know the one, it's not on the main road. I've been there once before, and it's a bit... well, dodgy, but students don't go in there very often, so we won't be overheard."

"You've been?" Ron says, surprised. "When?"

"Um," I begin nervously, glancing over at Hermione, "you know, I just popped by one time last year..." I pause for a moment, before hesitantly adding, "with Fred, George, and Lee."

"Not during a scheduled visit, I'm assuming?" Hermione says, a disapproving look on her face.

"Well - no," I admit, grinning sheepishly.

"You snuck into the _Hog's Head_?" Hermione demands indignantly.

"And we were back before midnight," I insist earnestly, a grin threatening to cross my face. "Come on, Hermione, it was ages ago... and anyway, it's for the best, isn't it, because that's how I came up with the idea to meet there."

Hermione just shakes her head and gives me another disapproving look. I glance over at Harry and Ron, who both look amused, and try to suppress a smile. We walk past Zonko's, where we're not surprised to see Fred, George, and Lee, past the post office, before arriving at a side-street at the top of which stands a small inn. The Hog's Head. A battered wooden sign hangs from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture on it of a wild boar's severed head, leaking blood onto the white cloth around it. This sign creaks in the wind as we approach. We pause when we're at the door, and I look from the pub to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and raise an eyebrow slightly at their expressions.

"Well, I told you it was dodgy," I say with a shrug, before walking forward, pushing the door open, and leading the way inside.

The Hog's Head could not be any more different from The Three Broomsticks, the large bar that gives an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. The Hog's Head is not much more than one small, dingy, and very dirty room that smells very strongly of something that I think might be goats. The bay windows are so encrusted with grime that it allows very little daylight to shine into the room, which is instead lit with the stubs of candles sitting on the rough wooden tables. At first glance, the floor seems to be made of compressed earth, but it's soon discovered that there is stone underneath all of the filth that seems to have accumulated over the course of centuries.

During first year, Hagrid had said that you get a lot of funny people at the Hog's Head, and two visits has told me that he is definitely very right about that. There's a man at the bar whose whole head seems to be wrapped in bandages, though he's managing to gulp down an endless amount of glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit in his mouth; two figures are sitting at a table by the window, shrouded in hoods that had they not been talking in thick Yorkshire accents, I would have thought they could have been Dementors, and in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace is a witch with a thick, black veil that falls to her toes. I can also remember a woman from my last visit to the pub, who had two severed fingers and stuck them up her nostrils for safe keeping.

"I don't know about this," Harry mutters, as we cross to the bar. I look round at him and notice that his eyes are focused on the heavily veiled witch. "Has it occurred to you that Umbridge could be under that?"

I study the witch more closely, making sure that I'm not too obvious all the while. After a moment, I shake my head slightly and look back at Harry.

"Too tall to be Umbridge," I say, dismissively but quietly.

"And anyway, even if Umbridge does come in here, there's nothing she can do to stop us, Harry, because I've tripled checked the school rules, and we're not out of bounds," Hermione interjects. "I specifically asked Flitwick if students were allowed to come into the Hog's Head, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. And I've looked up everything I can think of about homework groups and study groups, and they're definitely allowed. I just don't think we should go parading about what we're doing."

"No," Harry says dryly, "especially since it's not exactly a study group you're planning, is it?"

The barman slides towards us from a backroom. He's grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long[ grey hair](http://s.igmhb.com/click?v=R0I6MTE5NzcxOjQyMzU6Z3JleSBoYWlyOmZmNjI4ZDkxYWY4NDg0OGNlYmY0MjY5YmVjOWEyNDQ3OnotMjQ0OS04NzgxOTAyOTphcmNoaXZlb2ZvdXJvd24ub3JnOjM0MjE2ODphMzhmMzZhOGIzNTJjYWVmNWI1MmZkZTdkMzRhZjg2Zjo5ZGViNzNlODA0YTI0NmMzYTE2NmExZDYzYmNhY2UyNzoxOmRhdGFfc3MsNzI4eDEzNjY7ZGF0YV9yYywzO2RhdGFfZmIseWVzOzo0OTIzNzU2OnZ3b3B0LDA&subid=g-87819029-d877d83dde2d45978bfaaf2c8f17e693-&data_ss=728x1366&data_rc=3&data_fb=yes&data_tagname=A&data_ct=image_only&data_clickel=link&data_sid=ef431ace93c9e7c2b7413fcb51e71089) and beard. As I watch him, I get the feeling that I know him, just like how I did on my last visit, and the name is on the tip of my tongue, but before I can find it, he speaks and snaps me out of my train of thought.

"What?" he grunts.

"Four Butterbeers, please," Hermione says.

The man reaches beneath the counter and pulls out four very fusty, very dirty bottles, which he slams on the bar.

"Six Sickles,"

"I've got it," I say, giving the barman the silver.

The barman's eyes rest on me for a few moments, before travelling over to Harry, doing the all too familiar flicker to his scar, before turning away and depositing the money in an ancient wooden till whose drawer slides open automatically to receive the money.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I retreat to the table furthest away from the bar and sit down, looking around. The man covered in the bandages raps his knuckles on the counter and receives another smoking drink from the barman.

"You know what?" Ron murmurs, looking over at the bar with enthusiasm. "We could order anything we liked in here. I bet that bloke would sell us anything, he wouldn't care. I've always wanted to try Firewhiskey-"

"You - are - a - prefect," Hermione snarls.

"Oh," Ron says, the smile on his face rapidly fading, "yeah..."

I turn to Harry, a bit of a grin beginning to form on my face.

" _We're_ not prefects," I point out to him.

"Hazel, you are _not_ ordering Firewhiskey," Hermione says, glaring at me.

"Why not?" I say, a slight whine in my tone.

"Because you're underage and out during a school trip," she replies. " _That's_ why."

I'm about to teasingly ask if she'll give me a detention if I go ahead and try anyway, when Harry cuts into the conversation.

"So, who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?" Harry asks, wrenching open the rusty top of his Butterbeer and taking a swig.

"Just a couple of people," Hermione replies, checking her watch and looking anxiously towards the door, her anger at me clearly forgotten. "I told them to be here around now and I'm sure they all know where it is - oh, look, this might be them now."

The door of the pub has opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight splits the room in two for a moment, before it's blocked by the rush of the crowd of people streaming into the pub. First is Neville, who's accompanied by Dean and Lavender (how Parvati and Padma managed to convince her will always be a mystery to me), followed closely by the Patil twins themselves with Cho Chang and one of her giggling friends, then comes Luna Lovegood, on her own and looking so dreamy that she might have stumbled into the pub unknowingly; then Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, who is accompanied by a girl with a long plait down her back, then comes Jace, with Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot, Ginny, followed closely by a tall, skinny blond boy with an upturned nose that I'm pretty sure is a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and, bringing up the rear are Fred, George, and Lee, all carrying large paper bags that are full to the brim with Zonko's products.

"A couple people?" Harry repeats hoarsely. " _A couple people?_ "

"Well, what can I say? The idea was quite popular," I say happily, beaming around at the present people. "Ron, did you want to pull up more chairs?"

The barman has frozen from wiping a glass with a rag so filthy that I'm quite certain wiping the glass with it will do nothing but make it more filthy. I don't think he has ever seen his pun this full.

"Hi," Fred says, reaching the bar first and counting all the other people quickly, "could we have... twenty-six Butterbeers, please?"

The barman glares at him for a moment, before throwing down the rag irritably, as though he has been stopped from doing something of the utmost importance, and passing out Butterbeers from under the bar.

"Cheers," Fred says, handing them out. "Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold to pay for all of these..."

The large chattering group takes bottles from Fred and rummages though their robes to find coins.

"What have you been telling people?" Harry asks Hermione and I in a low voice. "What are they expecting?"

"We've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say about it all," I reply, but when he continues to look at me angrily, I add, a trace of impatience in my words, "you haven't got to do anything yet, I'm talking to them first."

"Hi, Harry," Neville says, beaming and taking the seat opposite him.

Harry gives a brave attempt at a smile back at him. Cho Change sits down on Ron's right and flashed Harry a smile, and my eyes flicker over to Harry, and I think I understand why he might be especially nervous. Her friend, a girl with curly reddish-blonde hair, does not smile at him, and I get the distinct impression that, given her way, she would not be here at all. I frown very slightly, wondering if this will prove to be a problem later on.

In twos and threes, the new arrivals settle around the table where we're seated, some looking nervous, other excited, and, in the case of Luna Lovegood, staring dreamily up into space. When everyone has pulled up a chair, the talking dies down, and every eye settles on Harry.

I take this as a hint to start talking, and say, rather nervously, "Erm... hi."

The group pf people now focus on me, though their eyes dart regularly to Harry. I take a deep breath, before continuing.

"Well, we all know why we're here, don't we? We've had the idea-" I say, but when Harry and Ron shoot me sharp looks, I correct myself irritably, "-well, Hermione and I have had the idea that it's time that we - that we learn to study Defence Against the Dark Arts. And I mean really study it, you know, not the kind of rubbish that Umbridge does with us," I continue, and at the verbal abuse at Umbridge, I become much less nervous, "because you really can't call that Defence Against the Dark Arts-"

"Hear, hear," Anthony Goldstein says, and this encourages me even more.

"And, well, we think just think that it's time we take matters into our own hands," I pause, glance at Harry, before continuing. "As in, learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just in theory, but actually _doing_ the spells-"

"You want to pass your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL, too, though, I bet," Michael Corner interjects, watching me closely.

"Well, of course I do," I say immediately, frowning slightly. "But I also want to be able to properly defend myself against the Dart Arts, which I'd say is more important than school, especially right now, because - well, because Voldemort's back."

The reaction to my words is immediate and really rather predictable. Cho's friend shrieks and slops Butterbeer down herself; Terry Boot gives an involuntary twitch; Padma Patil shudders, and Neville gives an odd yelp that he manages to turn into a cough. In spite of this, however, they all look fixedly, even excitedly, at Harry.

"Well, that's the plan, anyway," I say, hoping I sound casual. "If you'd like to join us, then we're going to have to-"

"Where's the proof that You-Know-Who's back?" says the blond Hufflepuff Quidditch player rather aggressively.

My heart sinks. I can't pretend that I did not see this coming, that I didn't expect that people would want to hear Harry's story firsthand, that that might be the entire reason some people would even bother to show up, but I also can't pretend that I didn't hope that it would be a while until someone asked, until Harry had to be defended, until things became a bit... well, bumpy.

"Well, for one thing, Dumbledore believes it-" I begin, but the boy cuts me off.

"You mean, Dumbledore believes him," he says, nodding at Harry.

"Who are you?" Ron asks, rather rudely.

"Zacharias Smith," the boy says, "and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say that You-Know-Who's back."

"Look," I say, giving the boy an annoyed look, "that's not why we're here, all right? We're not here to talk about-"

"It's okay, Hazel," Harry says suddenly, and I whip around to look at him. He just ignores me, looking Zacharias Smith straight in the face and saying, "What makes me think that You-Know-Who's back? I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year. If you don't believe him, you won't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."

The whole group has seemed to have held its breath to listen to Harry talk. I get the distinct impression that even the barman is listening, as he has been wiping that same glass with that filthy rag for a while now, making it more and more dirty.

"All Dumbledore told us was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought him back to Hogwarts," Zacharias say dismissively. "He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how he got murdered, I think we'd all like to know-"

"If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone, I can't help you," Harry says shortly, and I can tell that his temper is rising, and desperately hope that Zacharias Smith suddenly develops the ability to know when to shut up. "I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out."

He casts an angry look in the direction of Hermione and I, and I pretend that I don't notice it. Nobody leaves their seats, not even Zacharias Smith, though he continues to gaze intently at Harry.

"Erm," I say nervously, looking around at everyone, "so... like I was saying... if you'd like to learn defence, then we need to figure out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet and where we're going to-"

"Is it true," interrupts the girl with the long plait down her back, looking at Harry, "that you can produce a Patronus?"

There's a murmur of interest around the group at this question.

"Yeah," Harry replies, slightly defensively.

"A corporeal Patronus?"

"Er - you don't know Madam Bones, do you?" Harry asks.

The girl smiles.

"She's my aunt," she replies. "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So - is it really true? You can make a stag Patronus?"

"Yes," Harry says.

"Blimey, Harry!" Lee says, looking deeply impressed. "I never knew you could do that!"

"Mum told her not to spread it around," Fred says, grinning at Harry. "She said you got enough attention as it was."

"She wasn't wrong," Harry mumbles, and a few people laugh.

The veiled witch sitting alone shifts slightly in her seat.

"And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" demand Terry Boot. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year..."

"Er - yeah, I did," Harry replies.

Justin Finch-Fletchley whistles; the Creevey brothers exchange awestruck looks, and Lavender Brown says "Wow!" very softly.

"And in our first year," Neville informs the group at large, "he saved that Philological Stone-"

"Philosopher's," Hermione hisses.

"Yes, that - from You-Know-Who," he finishes.

Hannah Abbott's eyes, I notice, are as round as Galleons.

"And that's not to mention," Cho adds, and I note Harry's eyes snapping over to look at her, seeing that she's looking at him and smiling, "all the tasks he has to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year - getting past dragons and merpeople and Acromantula and things..."

There's a murmur of impressed agreement at the table, and I smile around at everyone, exchanging triumphant looks with Hermione, glad that things seemed to be going in the right direction.

"Look," Harry says, and everyone falls silent immediately, "I... I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but... I had a lot of help with all that stuff..."

"Not with that dragon, you didn't," Michael Corner says at once. "That was seriously a cool bit of flying..."

"Yeah, well-" Harry says.

"And nobody helped you get rid of those Dementors this summer," Susan Bones adds.

"No," Harry says, "no, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but what I'm trying to say here is-"

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" Zacharias Smith demands.

"Here's an idea," Ron says loudly, before Harry has the chance to speak, "why don't you shut your mouth?"

Perhaps the word 'weasel' has affected Ron very strongly. Either way, he's looking at Smith with an expression on his face that clearly shows that he wants nothing more than to hit him.

"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him and now he's saying that he can't really do any of it," Smith insist.

"That's not what he said," Fred snarls.

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" George asks, pulling out a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from one of the Zonko's bags.

"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy about where we stick this," Fred adds.

As much as I'd love to see Zacharias Smith being abused by Fred and George with Zonko's products, because at this point he really does deserve it, I also think that it's time to chance the subject, or else we might not get much farther. Hermione seems to think the same thing, because she steps in.

"Yes, well," she says hastily, "moving on... the point is, we are agreed that we want to take lessons from Harry?"

There's a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias crosses his arms and says nothing, though perhaps he might be too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in Fred's hand.

"Right," I say, relieved that we've managed to get one thing settles. "Well, the next thing we need to decide is how often we do it. I mean, there really won't be much point to it all if we don't meet at least once a week-"

"Hang on," Angelina interjects, "we need to make sure this doesn't interfere with our Quidditch practice."

"No," Cho agrees, "nor ours."

"Nor ours," Zacharias Smith adds.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everybody," Hermione says impatiently, "but, you know, this is rather important, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eathers-"

"Well said!" Ernie Macmillan barks, and I'm rather surprised that he had not spoken until now. "Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything we'll do this year, even with our OWL's coming up!"

He looks around impressively, as though expecting someone to cry out "surely not!" or something of that manner. When nobody speaks, he continues, "I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher on us at this critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is actively preventing us from using defensive spells-"

"We think the reason why Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defence Against the Dark Arts," Hermione says, "is that she's got some... some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as some kind of army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry."

Everyone looks stunned by this news, except for Luna Lovegood, who says, "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has his own private army."

"What?" Harry says, looking thrown by this news.

"Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths," Luna says solemnly, nodding.

"No, he hasn't," Hermione snaps.

"Yes, he has," Luna says.

"What are Heliopaths?" Neville asks blankly.

"They're spirits of fire," Luna says, her already protuberant eyes widening so that she looks madder than ever, "great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground, burning everything in front of-"

"They don't exist, Neville," Hermione says tartly.

"Oh, yes, they do," Luna says angrily.

"Sorry, where's the proof of that, exactly?" Hermione snaps.

"There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you're so narrow-minded you need everything shoved under your nose before you-"

I catch Ginny's eye and give her a pointed look. She seems to understand exactly what I'm silently asking of her, because she nods once before turning to the group at large.

"Hem hem," she says, in that imitation of Umbridge's voice that she has managed to perfect over the weeks, so accurate that several people look around in alarm, then let out a laugh. "Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and have defence lessons?"

"Right you are, Ginny," I say brightly, grinning and trying not to laugh.

"Well, once a week sounds cool," Lee pipes up.

"As long as-" Angelina begins.

"Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch," Hermione says tensely. "Well, the other thing is to decide where we're going to meet..."

This, of course, is the harder part to it, the question that Hermione and I couldn't answer even after weeks of brainstorming. The whole group falls silent.

"Library?" Katie suggests after a moment.

"I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library," Harry says.

"Maybe an unused classroom?" Dean says.

"Yeah," Ron says. "McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practicing for the Triwizard Tournament."

But I highly doubt that McGonagall with repeat of this generous action. We can call what we're doing a study group all we want, but it's undeniable that, in reality, this is much more rebellious than an innocent study group.

"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," Hermione says. "We'll send a message round to everybody when we find a time and place to meet."

She pulls out a parchment and a quill, then hesitates, as though steeling herself to say something. I can tell she's introducing the list, and I give her an encouraging look.

"I - I think we should write everybody's name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think," she takes a deep breath, "that we all ought to agree not to go shouting about what we're doing. So, if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell anybody else about this."

Fred reaches out for the parchment and cheerfully writes his signature, but I note that not everybody is as eager to put their names on the list.

"Er..." Zacharias says, not taking the parchment that George is offering him, "well... I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is."

But Ernie looks rather hesitant about signing it, as well. Hermione raises her eyebrows at him.

"I - well, we are prefects," he bursts out.

"Ron and Hermione are prefects, and you don't see them complaining," I point out, eyebrows raised. "It was Hermione who came up with it to begin with."

"Yes, but... if this list was found... well, I mean to say... you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out-"

"You just said that this group is the most important thing you'd so all year," Harry reminds him.

"I - yes," Ernie says, "yes, I do believe that, it's just-"

"Ernie, do you really think we're going to leave this list lying around where anyone can find it?" I ask testily.

"No. No, of course not," Ernie says, still looking anxious. "I - yes, of course, I'll sign it."

Nobody objects after Ernie signs it, though Cho's friend looks around reproachfully before adding her own name. When the last person - Zacharias - has signed, Hermione takes the parchment and slips it carefully in her bag. Now all that's left to be done with that list is have me put the jinx on it that will make sure we'll know if anyone sells us out.

"Well, time's ticking on," Fred says briskly, getting to his feet. "George, Lee, and I have items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later."

In twos or threes, the rest of the group begins to leave, as well.

Cho makes rather a business of fastening the catch on her bag before leaving, her long dark hair swinging forward to hide her face, much to the annoyance of her friend, who has her arms folded, clicking her tongue, so that Cho has little choice but to leave with her. As she ushers Cho through the door, the later turns back and smiles and waves at Harry.

"Well, I think that went quite well," Hermione says cheerfully, as she, Harry, Hermione, and I exit the Hog's Head, the latter three of us still with our bottles of Butterbeer.

"That Zacharias bloke's a wart," says Ron, who's glowering after the figure of Smith, who's barely visible in the distance.

"Yes, I don't like him, either," Hermione admits, "but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say?"

"But the more the merrier, I guess," I add fairly. "I mean, Michael Corner and that lot wouldn't have come if I wasn't friends with Jace and Ginny wasn't dating Michael-"

Ron, who had been draining the last few drops of Butterbeer, gags and sprays the drink down his front."

"He WHAT?" he demands, his ears very red, and I roll my eyes. "She's going out with - my sister's going - what do you mean, Michael Corner?"

"Well, that's part of the reason why they came, I think," I say. "Well, obviously, they're interested in learning defence, but I'm sure if Ginny hadn't-"

"When did this - when did she-?"

"They met at the Yule Ball and got together at the end of last year," Hermione says composedly. We've turned into the High Street and Hermione pauses outside of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, where there's a display of pheasant feather quills in the window. "Hmm... I could do with a new quill..."

She turns into the shop, and Harry, Ron, and I follow.

"Which one was Michael Corner?" Ron demands.

"The dark one," Hermione replies.

"I didn't like him," Ron says at once.

"There's a shock," I mutter sarcastically.

"But," Ron says, following Hermione and I along a row of quills in copper pots, "I thought Ginny fancied Harry!"

Hermione looks at him rather pityingly and shakes her head.

"Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn't like you, of course," Hermione adds kindly, while examining a long black and gold quill.

Harry, however, doesn't seem to be terribly bothered.

"So that's why she talks now?" he asks. "She never used to talk in front of me."

"Exactly," Hermione confirms. "Yes, I think I'll have this one..."

She walks over to the counter and hands over fifteen Sickles and two Knuts, Ron still breathing down her neck.

"Ron," Hermione says severely, when she turns and trods on his feet, "this is exactly why Ginny hasn't told you she's seeing Michael, she knew you'd take it badly. So don't harp on about it, for heaven's sake."

"What d'you mean? Who's taking it badly? I'm not going to harp about anything..."

Ron continues to mutter under his breath all the way down the street. When Ron continues to mutter implications about Michael Corner and Hermione keeps reprimanding him, I roll my eyes at Harry, before smirking slightly and putting an arm around him, saying, "And speaking of Michael and Ginny... how about you and Cho Chang, then?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asks quickly.

"Well, I mean, she just couldn't keep her eyes off of you, could she?" I say, my smirk widening.

Seeing the delighted expression on Harry's face amuses me greatly, to say the least. Really, after over two years of awkward moments with Fred, I think I deserve this.

 

***

 

Several hours after the Hogsmeade trip ends, I find myself hurrying over to the library, going to find a Charms book that could help me with an essay Flitwick has set on us, since I didn't get to do it yesterday, due to the particularly long Quidditch practice Angelina had scheduled.

Letting out a sigh once I'm one floor away, as the last thing I want to do is schoolwork, I briefly consider just not bothering and going on Sunday. But then I shake my head, since I know nothing good comes out of procrastinating, and continue on - that is, until someone grabs me from behind. I very nearly let out a scream, until I recognize the scent - dark berries and mint, with that very faint hint of sweets - realize who it is, and relax. I twist around so that I'm face to face with Fred.

"You know, most people just say hello," I say, though I'm beaming up at him.

"But where's the fun in that?" Fred demands, grinning down at me.

"Not as fun, no, but saves me from nearly having a heart attack," I point out.

"Hey, I'm keeping you on your toes," he insists. "Really, you should be thanking me."

"Yeah, not going to happen," I say, barely stifling a laugh. "But I could do this..."

I go up on tiptoe and kiss him. He takes my face in his hands, so that the quick kiss that I had originally had in mind turns into a much longer one.

"See, I think I can live with that," he states teasingly.

"Oh, I'm glad," I say sarcastically, grinning.

And though the last thing I want to do is move away from him so that his arms aren't around me anymore, I still do need to go do that essay, and I'm just about to tell him this, when he says, "Let's go for a walk."

"I can't," I say, disappointed. "I've got homework."

"You've always got homework," he protests, a slightly whiny tone to his voice.

"Is that my fault?" I ask. "You said it yourself, OWL year's a nightmare."

"No, but... I mean, you've still got Sunday..." he points out, "I mean, really... you've got all the time in the world."

"Not exactly, Fred," I shake my head, smiling faintly. "Especially since the library closes in half an hour."

"Oh, who needs the ruddy library, anyway?" he says.

"Just because your life in no way requires libraries doesn't mean that the rest of us are that lucky," I state, moving away from him and continuing my journey to the library.

"Hey, my life requires libraries in _some_ ways," he protests,, hurrying to catch up with me.

"Slipping Hiccough Sweets into Madam Pince's tea doesn't count," I point out, though the corners of my mouth are twitching upwards in a smile. "I was talking about using libraries for its actual purpose - you know, to take out and read _books_."

"You sound like McGonagall," he comments. "You know, some girls _like_ a bad boy."

"Yeah, so do I, so it's too bad you're not a bad boy," I say teasingly.

"Oi! I am a bad boy!" he protests.

"In what world do you qualify as a bad boy, Fred Weasley?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and smirking at him.

"All of them!" he insists, and when I scoff at this, he goes on, "Come on, think about it! I've got the rebellious attitude, I break the rules, I'm really strong and tough-"

"Let's not forget the charming modesty," I add sarcastically.

"Bad boys don't _need_ to be modest," he replies, as though this should be obvious, and I roll my eyes.

"Fred, bad boys have got the tall, dark, and handsome thing going on with them," I say, putting on a voice of a teacher explaining how one and one makes two, "And you're two out of three, but the third and arguably most important quality is missing, I'm afraid."

"Which one?" Fred demands.

"Can you not _tell_?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Would I be asking you if I could?"

"Fair enough," I say, nodding. "Well, you definitely are tall, and you are handsome - I _suppose_ ," I add teasingly, when he starts to look pleased, "but you're missing the dark aspect, which is what completes it all. You can be tall and handsome all you like, but unless you're dark, too, then the whole bad boy image just isn't there."

"How am I not dark? I'm very dark, thank you very much," Fred argues.

"The pale skin, freckles, and hair that's as red as it gets say otherwise," is all I say.

He frowns.

"You're pale, too!" he protests. "Hey, I'm pretty sure you're paler than I am!"

"I never said I wasn't," I point out, then, decide to console him by adding, albeit teasingly. "But if it helps, the whole ginger thing is adorable on you."

"I'm _not_ adorable," he says, pouting in a way that makes me beg to differ.

I'm just about to retort, when I realise that we're in front of the library. How Fred manages to make me forget my surroundings, I'll never know.

"Well, I personally think that since you've damaged my ego possibly beyond repair, and that the library is closing in about ten minutes, anyway, I think you should make it up to me by going on a walk with me," Fred states.

"Ha, I don't think so," I say, shaking my head and smiling up at him.

"Why do you insist on hurting me like this?" he demands, putting a hand to his chest and looking down at me with a smile threatening to cross his face. "You're a regular heartbreaker, you are, Knight."

"Well, you make it too easy," I say, smiling and shrugging in a modest kind of way.

"Come on, just a quick walk around, you've still got Sunday. Please?" he adds, dragging out the last word.

I'm silent for a moment, looking away from him, wanting him to at least think that he didn't win me over that easily. Finally, after a silent that I think will suffice, I turn back to him.

"Oh, all right," I say, grinning. "But only because you're _adorable_ when you beg."

I put extra emphasis on the term 'adorable', knowing that it'll bother him and his determination to prove that he is a bad boy.

"Did you do that on purpose?" he demands as we begin to walk away, putting an arm around me and looking down at me with a small smile on his face. When I nod, he laughs and says, "You're evil, Hazel."

"If I'm evil, what does that make you, I wonder?" I say.

"Come on, Knight, weren't you listening?" he says, tapping the top of my head lightly with his finger. "I'm a bad boy!"

In spite of myself, I burst out laughing.

"I walked right into that one, didn't I?" I say, grinning at him.

"Yes, yes, you did," he says very seriously, though he's grinning just as widely as I am.

"All right, well, I admit defeat," I say. "For now."

"Are you finally admitting that I am the bad boy of your dreams, Hazel?"

"Not a chance, Weasley," I say, snorting. "What I am saying, though, is that you can call yourself a bad boy as much as you like, and I won't make fun of you. At least, for now."

Fred looks thoughtful for a moment.

"I'll take it," he finally says, before adding, mocking my tone, "At least, for now."

"Oi! I do not sound like that!" I protest.

"Yes, you do, love," Fred says, grinning and kissing the top of my head quickly, and I really can't be too annoyed with him when he does things like that.

The quick walk around turns out to be something much longer, so that it quickly turns into us sneaking around the castle and talking in whispers, the conversation including Fred insisting that he is the baddest of bad boys in a variety of ways. We only go back to the castle when Flitwick finds us, give us each a detention, deducts ten points off Gryffindor, and leads us back to Gryffindor tower, insisting that after being here as long as we have, we really should know not to misbehave like this.

When we're back at the common room, I decide to go to bed.

"I'll see you around," I say, going up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, thoroughly wishing that there weren't people around so I could kiss the part of his face that I most want to.

"Night, Knight," he says, smiling.

I smile back at him, wave, and walk over to the girls' dormitories. Once in my dormitory, I greet Hermione cheerfully, though she's too absorbed in her book to take any notice.

"Hello," I repeat, a little louder. When I still get no response, I say, much louder, "HERMIONE!"

She jumps, snapping her book shut and staring at me with wide eyes, before giving me a look.

"You scared me!" she protests.

"You scared me, too," I say seriously. "You were so into that book, I was afraid you were going to literally get sucked in, so I basically just saved your life."

"I'm finding it hard to be grateful," she states, rolling her eyes, and I grin.

I stumble over to the bathroom and get ready for bed. Once I'm changed into my pajamas, I suddenly remember something.

"Hey, can I see the list? I'll just put the jinx on it now," I say.

"Good idea," she nods, getting up and walking over to her bag, taking out the piece of parchment in which everyone wrote their names earlier today.

I take the parchment, draw my wand and point it at the parchment. Concentrating very carefully, as this jinx is particularly tricky, I mutter the spell. Once finished and feeling satisfied, I hand it back to her. Now, if anyone is to give us away, we'll know, considering that a series of close-set purple pustules will spread across said person's nose and cheeks to form the words 'SNEAK'.

"It was a very good idea, you know," I say to her, smiling appreciatively. "I don't know if you noticed, but a few people there today seemed like they might have some...  _problems_ when it comes to loyalty and keeping their mouth shut."

"I thought so, too," Hermione says with a nod. "And even if there wasn't... well, it's good to stay on the safe side, you know? This way we'll be safe to get revenge on anyone that sells us out, if they do sell us out."

I nod in approval, and we fall into silence. I'm just about to get into bed, when Hermione speaks.

"It's exciting, isn't it?" she says.

"What is?" I ask, though I think I have an idea.

"This," she says, gesturing towards the parchment. "Knowing that we're about to do it, whether Umbridge and the Ministry like it... even - even breaking the rules. It's exciting, don't you think?"

I turn around to face her, grinning broadly and crossing my arms at her.

"Well, well, well," I say delightedly, "what do we have here? Perfect prefect Hermione Granger breaking the rules and  _liking_ it? Oh, how the tables have turned, indeed."

"Oh, quiet, you," Hermione says, though she's smiling. "Prefect or not prefect, really, it's exciting, this whole Being-Rebellious thing."

"Hermione, I've never been more proud of you in my life," I inform her, and she laughs.

That night I go to bed in high spirits, excited for what it's in store in terms of the Defence Against the Dart Arts lessons from Harry, because, really, if it can get Hermione Granger excited about being rebellious, then I really don't see how it can be anything but a good thing.


	26. Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four

**Ours**

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four**

 

The following Monday morning, as Hermione and I walk down the corridor of the dormitories to the common room, we note that two fourth year girls in front of us are giggling profusely and pointing down the staircase. It becomes evident to me, though, when the girls sit and slide down it, that the staircase is not currently a staircase, but a smooth, stone slide like a helter-skelter.

"Doesn't the staircase turn into a slide whenever a boy tries to get into the dormitories?" I ask of Hermione, remembering Fred telling me this last year.

"Yes, that's right," she nods. "I wonder who tried to get in?"

I just shrug, before turning back to the slide that was once a staircase, grinning.

"This should be fun," I state, before hurrying over and sliding down the slide, laughing all the while.

Once I slide onto the rug at the bottom of the staircase, I look up and find Harry and Ron in front of me. I grin at them, before getting to my feet and dusting off my clothes nonchalantly, though there isn't much to dust off.

"Was it one of you that tried to get up, then?" I ask.

"It was me, I didn't realise that would happen," Ron says. "It's not fair! You and Hermione can come up in our dormitory, how come we're not allowed-?"

"Well, it's a bit of an old-fashioned rule," states Hermione, who has just slid neatly on the rug that I was on seconds before and is now getting to her feet, "but it says in  _Hogwarts: A History_ that the founders thought boys were less trustworthy than girls. Anyways, why were you trying to get in here?"

"To see you two - look at this!" Ron says, dragging us over to the noticeboard.

A large sign has been affixed on the noticeboard, so large that it covers everything else on it - the list of secondhand spellbooks for sale, the regular reminder of school rules from Filch, the Quidditch team training timetable, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog cards for others, Fred and George's latest advertisement for testers, the fates for Hogsmeade weekends, lost and found notices, all of it. The new sign is printed in large black letters and there's a highly official-looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature.

_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

_All student organisations, societies, teams, groups, and clubs are henceforth disbanded._

_An organisation, society, team, group, or club is hereby redefined as a regular meeting of three of more students. Permission to reform may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge)._

_No student organisation, society, team, group, or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor,_

_Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an organisation, society, team, group, or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four._

_Sighed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor._

 

When I finish reading, a thrill of panic rushes through me. This must be about the secret Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons we're planning, but how did she find out? Has someone already betrayed us?

"Someone must have blabbed to her!" Ron says angrily.

"They can't have done," Hermione says in a low voice.

"You're so naive," Ron snaps, "you think just because you're all honourable and trustworthy-"

"No, they can't have done, because Hazel put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed," Hermione interrupts grimly. "Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they'll really regret it."

"What'll happen to them?" Ron asks eagerly.

In spite of my worry, I find it in myself to smile mischievously at him.

"Well, let's just say it'll make Eloise Midgeon's acne look like a couple of cute freckles," I say. "Come on, let's go down to breakfast and see what the others think... d'you think it's been put in all the houses?"

It becomes apparent immediately after entering the Great Hall that the sigh had been put up in the other houses, as well. There's a strange intensity about the talking going on and an extra measure of movement as people move up and down the tables to discuss what they had read. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I have barely sat down when Neville, Dean, Fred, George, and Ginny hurry over to us.

"Do you see it?"

"D'you reckon she knows?"

"What are we going to do?"

They're all looking at Harry, who looks around the Great Hall, clearly checking to see if there are any teachers around.

"We're going to do it anyways, of course," he says quietly.

"Knew you'd say that," George says, beaming and thumping Harry on the arm.

"The prefects, as well?" Fred asks, looking quizzically at Ron and Hermione.

"Of course," Hermione says coolly.

"Here comes Ernie and Hannah Abbott," Ron says, looking over his shoulder, "and those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith... and none of them are looking very spotty."

I look around in alarm. What are they  _thinking_? This is bound to look suspicious, the houses don't mingle that often during mealtimes.

"Never mind spots, they can't come over now, it'll look really suspicious, the houses don't mingle that often during mealtimes.

"Never mind spots, they can't come over now, it'll look really suspicious - oh, the bloody  _idiots_ ," I say in frustration, before mouthing at Ernie and Hannah, gesturing frantically for them to rejoin the Hufflepuff table. "Sit down! Later - we - will - talk - to - you - later!"

"I'll tell Michael," Ginny says impatiently, swinging herself off the bench, "the fool, honestly..."

She hurries off in the direction of the Ravenclaw table. I watch her as she goes, until I notice that Jace has entered the Great Hall and is walking over to the Gryffindor table. I let out a noise of frustration, before shaking my head frantically, gesturing towards the Ravenclaw table and mouthing, "Later!"

Luckily, he gets the message easier than Hannah and Ernie do, and quickly and casually changes course for the Ravenclaw. I let out a sigh of relief and go back to my breakfast, though I find it harder to eat.

When Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I head out of the Great Hall for History of Magic, a voice calls out, "Harry! Ron! Hazel!"

We turn around and find Angelina hurrying towards us, looking positively desperate.

"It's okay," Harry says quietly when she's near enough, "we're still going to-"

"You realise she's including Quidditch in this?" Angelina says, talking over him. "We have to go and ask permission to reform the Quidditch team!"

"What?" Harry and I say in unison.

"No way," Ron says, looking appalled.

"You read the sign, it mentions teams, too! So listen, Harry... I'm saying this for the last time... please, please don't lose your temper with Umbridge again or she might not let us play anymore!"

"Okay, okay," Harry says, probably because Angelina looks to be on the verge of tears. "Don't worry, I'll behave myself..."

"Bet Umbridge is in History of Magic," Ron says grimly as we set off for Binns' lesson. "She hasn't inspected Binns yet... bet you anything she's there..."

But Umbridge ins't there. Just as usual, the only teacher present is Professor Binns himself, floating an inch above his chair as usual and preparing another long and boring speech about giant wars. I try my best to pay attention, but with the new educational decree stuck in my mind, I find it even harder than usual. My eyes drift over to the window, before moving back over to Professor Binns. Then I feel a jolt run through me and snap my head back over to the window, since what I saw at the window has now registered in my mind.

Harry's owl, Hedwig, is perched on the narrow window ledge, gazing through the thick glass at her owner, a letter tied to her leg. I frown slightly at this. We've just had breakfast, why didn't she deliver the letter then? I nudge Harry in the ribs, harder than I had meant to, but it doesn't make him snap out of his stupor, though he's looking at me angrily.

"What?" he demands.

I point over to the window where Hedwig is, and he looks round. At this point, many of our classmates are pointing out Hedwig to each other, as well, and Professor Binns continues on with his speech, not noticing that his students' minds are so clearly elsewhere, as usual.

"Oh, I've always loved that owl, she's so beautiful," Lavender sighs to Parvati.

Harry glances over at Binns, before slipping quietly out of his chair, crouches down, and hurries along the row over to the window, where he slides the catch and opens it very slowly.

I expect Hedwig to simply allow Harry to untie the letter and the fly off to the owlery, but instead she hops inside, hooting dolefully. I glance anxiously at Binns, but he's still going with his giant war speech, and I turn back to Harry to find that he has closed the window, and is crouching down again and speeding back to his seat. Once back in his seat, he transfers Hedwig to his lap, and makes to remove the letter tied to her leg.

It's then that I realise that Hedwig's feathers are oddly ruffled; some of them are bent the wrong way, and she's holding one of her wings at an odd angle.

"She's hurt!" Harry whispers, bending his head low over her. Ron, Hermione, and I lean closer, and Hermione even puts down her quill. "Look, there's something wrong with her wing-"

Hedwig is quivering; when Harry makes to touch the wing she gives a little jump, all her feathers on end as though she's inflating herself, and gazes at Harry reproachfully.

"Professor Binns," Harry says loudly, and everyone turns to look at him. "I'm not feeling well."

Binns raises his eyes from his notes, looking amazed to find himself in front of a room full of people, as usual.

"Not feeling well?" Binns repeats hazily.

"Not at all well," Harry says firmly, getting to his feet with Hedwig concealed behind his back. "I think I need to go to the hospital wing."

"Yes," Binns says, clearly looking very lost. "Yes... yes, hospital wing... well, off you go, then, Perkins."

Harry hurries out of the room, managing to keep Hedwig concealed from Binns all the while. Once he's out of the room, Binns hesitates for a moment, clearly unsure as to what to do now, before clearing his throat and picking up exactly where he left off with his speech.

Hermione, in spite of her visible worry, picks up her quill and continues on with writing notes. Ron can't focus on History of Magic even on the best of days, and now I'm too worried and curious to even attempt at concentration. Ron and I start discussing Hedwig and his injury, but after enough dirty looks from Hermione, we break off, and I drum my fingers on my desk nervously, pretending to be listening, but really thinking about what could have gotten Hedwig injured like that.

The thing that comes into my mind and stays there is that the letter got intercepted, which is also the most worrying theory, considering that the person that writes to Harry the most is Sirius, so if someone intercepted a letter from him... of course, the letter was sealed, but it couldn't be too difficult to simply reseal it with magic, could it? But Sirius wouldn't be stupid enough to not speak in some sort of code, and he certainly wouldn't give his name or location away in a letter, would he? Still, he said it himself, codes are breakable...

When the bell rings for break, Ron, Hermione, and I are the first out of the room, and we head for the courtyard, standing over at one of the more sheltered corners of it, our cloak collars turned up against the wind and talking anxiously of Hedwig.

"What do you reckon happened?" Ron says.

"I - I think she might have been intercepted," I say, looking between the two of them nervously.

"Yes, it'd certainly make sense," Hermione agrees, nodding. "I mean, she's never been hurt on a flight before now, has she?"

"But if the person who intercepted it read the letter..." I say nervously, looking around at the courtyard and biting my lip nervously, "I mean, it's probably Sirius who sent the letter... of course, he'd never put his name or location in a letter, and he'd obviously make some sort of a code... but he said it himself, codes are breakable..."

"who would intercept the letter, anyway?" Ron says. "D'you think it was Filch? I mean, he already thinks Harry's guilty of ordering Dungbombs, maybe now he just wants to be safe."

"Maybe," I concede. "But Filch isn't really known for intercepting letters, is he? I've never heard of him going that far before."

Before we can say anything else on the matter, we see Harry hurrying towards us, slitting open the letter as he does.

"How's Hedwig?" Hermione asks anxiously, the moment Harry's in earshot.

"Where did you take her?" Ron says.

"To Grubbly-Plank," Harry replies. "And I met McGonagall... listen..."

He goes into recount of his conversation with McGonagall, ending with how she had warned him that "channels of communication in and out of Hogwarts may be being watched," something that confirms our theories. Ron, Hermione, and I exchange significant looks, something that doesn't go unnoticed by Harry.

"What?" he asks, looking between the three of us.

"Well, we were just saying..." I begin, "what if someone had tried to intercept Hedwig? She's never been hurt during flight until now, has she?"

"Who's the letter from, anyways?" Ron asks, taking the note from Harry.

"Snuffles," Harry replies quietly.

I look at the note over Ron's shoulder. It's nothing but one sentence.

_Tonight, same time, same place._

"'Same time, same place?' Does he mean the fire in the common room?" Ron asks, looking from the note, to Harry, then back down.

"Obviously," Hermione says, also looking down at the note and seeming to be uneasy. "I just hope nobody else has read this..."

"But it's still sealed and everything," Harry points out, looking as though he's trying to convince himself as much as Hermione. "And nobody would know what it meant if they didn't know where we'd spoken to him before, would they?"

"I don't know," Hermione says anxiously, hitching her bag back over her shoulder as the bell rings again, "it wouldn't exactly be difficult to reseal the scroll using magic... and if anyone's watching the Floo Network... but I really don't see how we can warn him not to come without that being intercepted, too!"

We trudge down the stone steps to the dungeons for Potions, all of us lost in thought, but as we reach the bottom of the steps we're brought back down to earth by the voice of Draco Malfoy, who is standing just outside Snape's door, waving around an official-looking piece of parchment and talking much louder than necessary, so that everyone can hear every word.

"Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry... it'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor will be allowed to keep playing, won't it?"

"Don't rise," Hermione whispers imploringly to Harry, Ron, and I, as they're watching Malfoy with clenched fists and set faces, and I'm glaring fiercely at him. "It's what he wants."

"I mean," Malfoy continues, raising his voice even more, his grey eyes glittering malevolently in Harry and Ron's direction, "if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance... from what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years... and as for Potter... my father says it's only a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo's... apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic..."

Malfoy makes a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling. Crabbe and Goyle make their usual grunts of laughter, while Pansy Parkinson shrieks with glee.

Something collides with Harry's shoulder, knocking him sideways and into me. After recovering from this, I look up and realise that Neville had charged past him, heading straight for Malfoy.

"Neville, no!" Harry says, leaping forward and seizing the back of Neville's robes.

Neville struggles frantically, his fists flailing, trying desperately to get at Malfoy, who, for a moment, looks extremely shocked.

"Help me!" Harry says to Ron, managing to get an arm around Neville's neck and dragging him backwards, away from the Slytherins.

Crabbe and Goyle flex their muscles as they step in front of Malfoy, ready to fight. Ron seizes Neville's arms, and together, he and Harry succeed in dragging him back to the Gryffindor line. Neville's face is scarlet; he's quite incomprehensible, probably due to the fact that Harry is putting quite a lot of pressure on his throat, but odd words manage to escape from his mouth.

"Not... funny... don't... Mungo's... show... him..."

The dungeon door opens, revealing Snape. His black eyes sweep up the Gryffindor line to the point where Harry and Ron are still wrestling with Neville.

"Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom?" Snape says in his cold, sneering voice. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detentions for you. Inside, all of you."

Harry finally releases Neville, who stands panting and glaring at him.

"I had to stop you," Harry gasps, picking up his bag. "Crabbe and Goyle would've torn you apart."

Neville says nothing in reply to that. Instead, he simply snatches his own bag and stalks off into the dungeon.

"What in the name of Merlin," Ron begins slowly, as we follow Neville into the dungeon, "was that all about?"

I don't say anything to that, simply watching Neville contemplatively for a moment, before looking away, remembering that Remus had told me in a letter that Neville's parents had been tortured into insanity, and now they were in St. Mungo's and were probably going to remain there for the rest of their lives. Remus had advised that I don't tell anyone, though, and even if he hadn't, I wouldn't have. Not even Neville knows I know, and it's best if it remains that way.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I take our usual seats at the back of the class, pull out parchment, quills, and our copies of  _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungai._ Everyone in the class is whispering about what Neville had just done, but when Snape closes the door with a bang that echoes across the room, everyone falls silent immediately.

"You will notice," Snape says, in his cold, sneering voice, "that we have a guest with us today."

He gestures towards a dim corner of the dungeon and I find Umbridge sitting there, clipboard on her knee. Eyebrows raised, I exchange sideways glances with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I'm not sure how I'm going to survive being in the same room as my two least favourite teachers of all time for the entire class, but I do know I'm going to need a lot of self-restraint.

"We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson; if made correctly they should have matured over the weekend - instructions-" he waves his wand- "are on board. Carry on."

Umbridge spends the first half hour of the class making notes on her clipboard. My eyes keep flickering over to her, wanting to hear her question Snape, but eventually I force myself to stop, because my desire to not have to endure Snape taunting me because I messed something up is stronger than my desire to hear Umbridge question Snape.

"Ha," Harry says softly after a while, and I look up from my potion to find Umbridge striding between two lines of desks to Snape, who's bending over Dean Thomas' potion.

"Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level," she says briskly to Snape's back. "Though I would question whether it's advisable to teach them a position like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer if it was removed from the syllabus."

Snape straightens up slowly and turns to look at her.

"Now... how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" Umbridge asks, her quill poised over her clipboard.

"Fourteen years," Snape replies, his expression unfathomable.

"You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Umbridge says.

"Yes," Snape says quietly.

"But you were unsuccessful?" Umbridge continues.

Snape's lip curls.

"Obviously,"

Umbridge scribbles on her clipboard.

"And you have applied regularly for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?"

"Yes," Snape answers, his lips barely moving. He now looks very angry.

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" she asks.

"I suppose you'll have to ask him," Snape replies jerkily.

"Oh, I shall," Umbridge says, smiling sweetly.

"I suppose this is relevant?" Snape says, his black eyes narrowed.

"Oh, yes," Umbridge replies, "the Ministry want a thorough understanding of the teachers' - er - backgrounds."

With that, Umbridge turns away and walks over to Parkinson, who she questions about the lessons. Snape looks around at Harry and their eyes meet for a split second, until Harry's gaze drips to his potion, which is now congealing foully and giving off a very strong smell of burning rubber. I suppose Umbridge's presence has made it more difficult for him to focus, as well.

"No marks again, Potter," Snape says softly, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. "You will write me an essay on the correct composition of the potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in the next lesson, do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry says furiously.

I look around the room, and note that once again, Harry's potion is not nearly the worst in the room, considering Goyle's potion, which is now black and bubbling dangerously.

"Maybe I'll skive off Divination," Harry says glumly, as we stand in the courtyard after lunch. "I'll pretend to be ill and do Snape's essay instead, that way I won't have to stay up half the night."

"You can't skive off Divination," Hermione says severely.

"Look who's talking, you walked right out of Divination, you hate Trelawney!" Ron says indignantly.

"I don't hate her," Hermione insists loftily. "I just think she's an absolutely appalling teacher and a real old fraud. But Harry's already missed History of Magic and I don't think he should be missing anymore classes today!"

There's too much truth in this statement, so after lunch, Harry accompanies Ron and I to the hot, over-perfumed atmosphere of the Divination classroom. Trelawney is again handing out copies of  _The Dream Oracle_ in a surprisingly angry manner. She slams down a copy on our table, her lips pursed. She throws the next copy at Dean and Seamus' table, narrowly missing Seamus' head, and slams the final copy into Neville's chest with such force that he falls off his pouffe.

"Well, carry on, then!" Umbridge says loudly, her voice high-pitched and hysterical. "You know what to do! Or am I such a sub-standard teacher that you do not know how to open a book?"

The class stares perplexedly at her, then at each other. I look back at Trelawney and have a sudden hunch as to what has got her in this mood.

Apparently Harry does, too, because as Trelawney flounces back to the high-backed teacher's chair, he whispers, "I think Trelawney's got the results of her inspection back."

"Professor?" says Parvati Patil in a hushed voice, as she and Lavender Brown have always admired Trelawney. "Professor, is there anything - er - wrong?"

"Wrong!" Trelawney repeats dramatically. "Certainly not! I have been insulted, certainly... insinuations have been made against me... unfounded accusations levelled... but no, there is nothing wrong, certainly not!"

She takes a shuddering breath, before turning away from Parvati, angry tears spilling from her eyes.

"I saw nothing," she continues in a chocked voice, "of sixteen years of devoted service... it has passed, apparently, unnoticed... but I shall not be insulted, no, I shall not!"

"But, Professor, who's insulting you?" Parvati asks timidly.

"The Establishment!" Trelawney replies in a deep, dramatic, wavering voice. "Yes, those with eyes too clouded by the mundane to See as I See, to Know as I Know... of course, we Seers have always been feared, always been persecuted... it is - alas - our fate."

She gulps, dabbing her wet cheeks with the end of her shawl. She then pulls out a small embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve, and blows her nose in a way that reminds me unpleasantly of Peeves blowing a raspberry. Apparently Ron is reminded of the same thing, because he sniggers, earning him a very dirty look from Lavender.

"Professor," Parvati says, "do you mean... is it something Professor Umbridge-"

"Do not speak to me about that woman!" Trelawney cries, leaping to her feet, her beads rattling and spectacles flashing. "Kindly continue with your work!"

I exchange uneasy looks with Harry and Ron, before moving over to Neville's table and continuing with interpreting each other's dream - or, at least, attempting to. We mostly speak of Trelawney's off behaviour and Umbridge, until Trelawney comes near us, tears still leaking from behind her glasses and muttering things that seem to be threats.

"... may well choose to leave... the indignity of it... on probation... we shall see... how she dares..."

"You and Umbridge have got something in common," Harry tells Hermione, as he, Ron, and I meet with her at Defence Against the Dart Arts. "She obviously reckons Trelawney is an old fraud, to... seems like she's put her on probation."

Umbridge enters the room as he speaks, wearing her black velvet bow and a smug expression that I want to punch off her face.

"Good afternoon, class,"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," the class chants back dully.

"Wands away, please,"

There's no flurry of movement this time, however. Nobody had bothered to take out their wands.

"Please turn to page thirty-four of Defence Magical Theory and read the third chapter, entitled 'The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack'. There will be-"

"- no need to talk," Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I chorus under our breaths.

 

***

 

The one thing that keeps me somewhat positive is the prospect of playing Quidditch later that night. Since Harry kept his temper throughout Defence Against the Dark Arts, there isn't any reason for Umbridge not to allow the Quidditch team to reform. My hopes, however, are dashed when Angelina approaches Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I as we enter the common room after dinner, her expression grim.

"No Quidditch practice today," Angelina says hollowly.

"But I kept my temper!" Harry says, looking horrified. "I didn't say anything to her, Angelina, I swear, I-"

"I know, I know," Angelina says miserably. "She just said she needed a bit more time to consider."

"Consider what?" Ron demands. "She gave the Slytherin team permission to reform right away, why not us?"

But I get the impression that Umbridge is thoroughly enjoying holding the threat of not giving the Gryffindor Quidditch team permission to reform, and that she's not too eager to let go of this weapon any time soon.

"Well, look at the bright side," Hermione says bracingly, "at least now you have time to do Snape's essay!"

I look at her incredulously, as does Ron. If that's the bright side, then things are even worse than they seem.

"That's the bright side, isn't it?" Harry snaps. "No Quidditch and extra Potions?"

Harry slumps into his chair, dragging his Potions essay out reluctantly from his bag and setting to work. I follow suit, but it's harder to concentrate than usual. Even though I know Sirius won't be making his appearance in the fire until much later, it's still difficult not to keep my eyes from wandering to the fire, just in case. Aside from that, Fred and George have perfected one type of Skiving Snackbox, which the are taking in turns to demonstrate to a cheering and whooping crowd. Finally, I give up on my homework and lean back in my chair to watch them.

First, Fred takes a bite out of the orange end of the chew, at which point he vomits spectacularly into a bucket that is placed in front of them. After this, he forces down the purple end of the chew, and the vomiting ceases immediately. In the meanwhile, Lee, who's assisting with the demonstration, lazily Vanishes the contents of the bucket with the same spell that Snape keeps using on Harry's potions.

Hermione, who is also watching the demonstration, keeps letting out loud and disapproving sniffs, which apparently is getting on Harry's nerves, as he's still attempting to write the Potions essay.

"Just go and stop them, then!" Harry says irritably.

"I can't, they're technically not doing anything wrong," Hermione says through gritted teeth. "They're quite within their rights to eat the foul things themselves and I can't find a rule against the other idiots buying them, not unless they're proven to be dangerous and it doesn't look like they are."

She, Harry, Ron, and I watch as George projectile vomits into the bucket, before forcing the other end of the chew down his throat and straightening up, his arms wide to welcome the applause he's receiving.

"You know, I don't get why Fred and George only got three OWL's each," Harry comments, watching as Fred, George, and Lee start collecting gold from the eager crowd. "They really know their stuff."

"Oh, they only know the flashy stuff that's of no real use to anyone," Hermione says dismissively.

"They certainly don't seem to agree," I say vaguely, nodding at the crowd, who aren't hesitating to give Fred, George, and Lee their gold; already they've made at least twenty-five Galleons.

It's a long while until the crowd around them disperses, and even longer until they go up to bed, as they're counting the money they'd made, so that it's well passed midnight by the time Fred closes the door to the boys' dormitories behind him, rattling the box of Galleons so that Hermione scowls. Harry, it seems, finally gives up on the Potions essay, putting his books away. Meanwhile, Ron is dozing lightly in his armchair, until he gives a muffled grunt, waking up and looking blearily into the fire.

"Sirius!" he says.

I whip around at the fire, finding Sirius' untidy head sitting in the fire again.

"Hi," he says, grinning.

"Hi," Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I chorus, kneeling down in front of the hearthrug. Crookshanks purrs loudly and approaches the fire, clearly trying, in spite of the heat, to put his face close to Sirius.

"How're things?" Sirius asks.

"Not good," Harry replies, as Hermione pulls Crookshanks back in an attempt to stop him from singeing his whiskers. "The Ministry's forced through another a decree, which means we're not allowed to have Quidditch teams-"

"Or secret Defence Against the Dart Arts groups?" Sirius says.

There's a short pause at this.

"How did you know that?" Harry demands.

"You might want to choose your meeting places more carefully," Sirius comments, grinning broadly. "The Hog's Head, I ask you."

"It was better than the Three Broomsticks!" I say defensively. "It's always packed there-"

"Which means you were less likely to be overheard," Sirius says. "You've got a lot to learn, Hazel."

I stare at him in disbelief for a moment, before looking away from him, my brow furrowing.

"I can't  _believe_ I didn't think of that!" I say furiously.

"Who overheard us?" Harry says.

"Mundungus, of course," Sirius replies, and when we look at him, puzzled, he laughs. "He was the witch under the veil"

"That was Mundungus?" Harry says, stunned. "What was he doing in the Hog's Head?"

"What do you think he was doing?" Sirius says impatiently. "Keeping an eye on you, of course."

"I'm still being followed?" Harry asks angrily.

"Yeah, you are," Sirius answers, "and just as well, isn't it, if the first thing you're going to do with your weekend is organise an illegal defence group."

But Sirius doesn't look angry or worried. In fact, he's looking at Harry with an expression of distinct pride.

"Why was Dung hiding from us?" Ron asks, looking disappointed. "We'd've liked to see him."

"He was banned from the Hog's Head twenty years ago," Sirius says, "and the barman's got a long memory. We lost Moody's spare Invisibility Cloak when Sturgis was arrested, so Dung's been dressing as a witch a lot lately... anyways... first of all, Ron - I've sworn to pass on a message from your mother."

"Oh, yeah?" Ron says, looking apprehensive.

"She says on no account whatsoever are you to take part in an illegal Defence Against the Dark Arts group. She says you'll be expelled for sure and your future will be ruined. She says there will be plenty of time to learn how to defend yourself later and that you are too young to be worrying about that right now. She also-" Sirius continues, his eyes focusing on Harry, Hermione, and I- "advises you three not to proceed with the group, though she accepts that she has no authority over any of you and simply begs you to remember that she has your best interests at heart. She would've written this all to you, but if the owl had been intercepted you would've been in real trouble, and she can't say it for herself because she's on duty tonight."

"On duty doing what?" Ron asks quickly.

"Never you mind, just stuff for the Order," Sirius replies. "So it's fallen to me to be the messenger, and make sure you tell her I passed on the message because I don't think she trusts me to."

There's a silence, in which Crookshanks attempts to paw Sirius' head and Ron plays with a hole in the hearthrug.

"So you want me to say I'm not going to take any part in the Defence group?" he finally mutters.

"Me? Certainly not!" Sirius replies, looking surprised. "I think it's a great idea!"

"You do?" Harry says.

"Of course I do! D'you think your fathers and I would've lain down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge?" Sirius says, nodding at Harry and I.

"But last term all you did was tell me to be careful and not take risks-"

"Last year, all the evidence pointed to the fact that someone in the castle was trying to kill you, Harry!" Sirius says impatiently. "This year, we know there's someone outside of Hogwarts that'd like to kill us all, so I think learning how to defend yourselves is a very good idea!"

"And if we do get expelled?" Hermione says, a quizzical look on her face.

"Hermione, this whole thing was your idea!" Harry says, staring at her.

"I know it was. I was just wondering what Sirius thinks," she says, shrugging.

"Well, better to be expelled and able to defend yourself than sitting safely in school without a clue," Sirius says.

"Hear, hear," Harry and Ron say enthusiastically, and I grin.

"So, how are you organising this group?" Sirius asks. "Where are you meeting?"

"That's the problem," Harry states. "We dunno where we'd be able to go."

"How about the Shrieking Shack?" he suggests.

"There's an idea!" Ron says excitedly, but Hermione makes a sceptical noise that makes the four of us look round at her.

"Well, Sirius, it's just that there were only five of you meeting in the Shrieking Shack when you were at school," Hermione explains, "and all of you could transform into animals, and I suppose you could've all squeezed into the Invisibility Cloak if you wanted to. But there are twenty-nine of us and none of us are, so we wouldn't need an Invisibility Cloak so much as an Invisibility Marquee-"

"Fair point," Sirius says, looking crestfallen. "Well, I'm sure you'll be able to come up with someplace. There used to be a pretty roomy secret passageway behind that big mirror on the fourth floor, you might have enough space to practice jinxes in there."

"It's blocked," I interject, shaking my head. "Caved in a while ago."

"Oh..." Sirius says, frowning. "Well, I'll have a think and get back to-"

He breaks off. He suddenly looks tense, alarmed, apparently looking into the solid brick wall of the fireplace.

"Sirius?" Harry says anxiously.

But Sirius has vanished.

We gape at the flames for a moment, before looking nervously at each other.

"Why did he-?" Hermione begins, but breaks off, letting out a horrified gasp and leaping to her feet, still staring at the fire.

A hand has appeared among the flames, groping as though to catch hold of something. It's a stubby, short-fingered hand, covered in ugly, old-fashioned rings.

We all run for it. At the door to the girls' dormitories, I chance a glance back. Umbridge's hand is still making snatching movements among the flames, as though she knows that Sirius' hair had been there moments before and is determined to seize it.


	27. Dumbledore's Army

**Ours**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Dumbledore's Army**

 

"Umbridge has been reading your mail, Harry. There's no other explanation."

"You think Umbridge attacked Hedwig?" Harry says furiously.

"I'm almost certain of it," Hermione says grimly. "Watch your frog, it's escaping."

" _Accio_!" Harry says, pointing his wand at the bullfrog that had been hopping hopefully to the other side of the table, and it zooms back into his outstretched hand.

Charms is always the best place to have a private chat. There's always so much movement and activity and noise that the chances of being overheard are very slim. Today, since the room is full of croaking bullfrogs and cawing ravens, added with the heavy rain pounding against the windows, I imagine the discussion Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I are having about how Umbridge had nearly caught Sirius is going quite unnoticed.

Hermione and I exchange looks, as we've discussed this many times since Harry had told us about how Filch had demanded to see his letters.

"We've been suspecting it ever since Filch accused you of ordering Dungbombs, because it seemed like such a stupid lie," I whisper. "I mean, once your letter had been read, it would've been obvious that you weren't ordering them, so you wouldn't have been in trouble at all, so it's kind of a stupid joke, isn't it? But what if someone just wanted an excuse to read your mail? Think about it, it would've been a perfect way for Umbridge to manage it. All she needed to do was tip off Filch and let him do all the dirty work, then all that's left for her to do is find a way to steal it or just demand to see it - I don't think Filch would object, he's never exactly been all for students' rights, has he? Harry, you're squashing your frog."

I gesture towards his hand, which is squeezing his bullfrog so tightly its eyes are popping. He releases it hastily.

"It was a very close call last night," Hermione continues. "I just wonder if Umbridge knows how close it was.  _Silencio_!"

The bullfrog that she's practising her Silencing Charm on is struck mid-croak and glares at her reproachfully.

"If she'd caught Snuffles-"

"-he'd probably be in Azkaban this morning," Harry finishes for her, waving his wand vaguely; his bullfrog swells like a green balloon and emits a high-pitched whistle.

" _Silencio_!" I say hastily, pointing my wand at the bullfrog, which deflates silently before us.

"Well, he mustn't do it again, that's all. I just don't know how we're going to let him know," Hermione says. "We can't send him an owl."

"I don't think he'll try it again," Ron interjects. "He's not stupid, he knows she nearly got him.  _Silencio_!"

The large raven in front of him let out a derisive caw.

" _Silencio! SILENCIO!_ " he repeats firmly, but the raven caws still more loudly.

"It's the way you're moving your hand," Hermione says, watching Ron critically, "you don't want to wave it, it's more of a sharp jab."

"Ravens are harder than frogs," Ron says through clenched teeth.

"Fine, then, let's swap," Hermione says, seizing Ron's raven and replacing it with her bullfrog. " _Silencio_!"

The raven continues to open and close its sharp beak, but no sound emits from it.

"Very good, Miss Granger!" Professor Flitwick squeaks from behind us, making us all jump. "Now let me see you try it, Mr. Weasley."

"Wha-? Oh - oh, right," Ron says, looking very flustered. "Er -  _silencio_!"

He jabs at the bullfrog so hard that he pokes it in the eye. The frog lets out a deafening croak and leaps off the desk. Though I don't say it out loud, I'm not all that surprised that Ron and Harry receive additional practice of the Silencing Charm for homework.

We're allowed to remain inside during break due to the weather. We find seats inside a noisy and overcrowded classroom on the first floor with Peeves floating dreamily up near the chandelier, occasionally throwing an ink pellet at the top of someone's head. We've barely sat down when Angelina comes struggling towards us.

"I've got permission!" she says excitedly. "To reform the Quidditch team!"

"Excellent!" Harry, Ron, and I say in unison.

"Yeah," Angelina says, beaming. "I went to see McGonagall and I think she might have appealed to Dumbledore. Anyways, Umbridge had to give in. Ha! So I want you to be down at the pitch at seven o'clock tonight, all right, because we've got time to make up for. You realise we're only three weeks away from our first match?"

She squeezes away from them, narrowly dodging an ink pellet thrown by Peeves, which instead hits a nearby first year, and disappears from sight.

Ron's smile slips slightly as he looks outside at the window which is now opaque with the pounding rain outside.

"Hope this clears up. What's with you, Hermione?"

She, too, is gazing out the window, but doesn't seem to really be seeing it, as her eyes are unfocused and there's a frown on her face.

"Just thinking..." she replies vaguely, still frowning at the rain-washed windows.

"About Siri - Snuffles?" Harry asks, correcting himself quickly.

"No... not exactly..." Hermione replies slowly. "More... wondering... I suppose we're doing the right thing... I think... aren't we?"

Harry, Ron, and I exchange looks. We've grown more than used to Hermione having moments like these, but to say that how vague she can be when she gets like this isn't annoying would be a lie.

"Well, that clears things up," Ron says sarcastically. "It would've been really annoying if you hadn't explained yourself properly."

Hermione looks at him as though she has just realised that he's there.

"I was just wondering," she says, her voice stronger now, "whether we're doing the right thing, starting this Defence Against the Dark Arts group."

"What?" Harry, Ron, and I say together.

"Hermione, it was your idea in the first place!" Ron says indignantly.

"I know," Hermione says, twisting her fingers together, "but after talking to Snuffles..."

"But he's all for it," I point out, now frowning slightly and watching her slowly, as I have an idea as to where she might be going with this.

"Yes," Hermione says, now staring at the window again. "Yes, that's what made me think that maybe this isn't a good idea after all..."

Peeves floats over us on his stomach, peashooter at the ready. Automatically, we hold our bags over our heads until he passes us.

"Let's get this straight," Harry says angrily, as we put our bags back on the floor, "Sirius agrees with us, so you don't think we should do it anymore?"

Hermione looks tense and rather miserable. Looking at her hands, she says, "Do you honestly trust his judgement?"

"Yes, I do!" Harry says at once. "He's always given us great advice!"

An ink pellet whizzes past us and hits Katie Bell directly in the ear. Hermione watches as Katie leaps to her feet and begins throwing things at Peeves. When Hermione speaks again, it seems as though she's choosing her words very carefully.

"You don't think he's become... sort of... reckless... since he's been cooped up in Grimmauld Place? You don't think he's kind of... living through us?"

"What d'you mean, 'living through us'?" Harry says.

"I mean... well, I think he'd love to be forming a secret Defence society right under the nose of someone from the Ministry... I think he's really frustrated about how little he can do where he is... so I think he's keen to kind of... egg us on."

Ron stares at her, looking utterly perplexed.

"Sirius is right," he says, "you do sound just like my mother."

Hermione bites her lip and doesn't reply. The bell rings just as Peeves swoops over Katie and dumps the entire ink bottle over her head.

 

***

 

The weather doesn't improve as the day goes on; if anything, it worsens, so at seven o'clock that evening, when Harry, Ron, and I head down for the Quidditch pitch for practice, we're soaked through within minutes, slipping and sliding on the sodden grass. The sky is a deep, thundery grey, and I feel more than a little relieved to enter the light and warmth of the changing rooms, even though the heat and light is only temporary. We walk in to find Fred and George debating whether they should use one of their Skiving Snackboxes to get out of flying.

"... but I bet she'd know what we'd done," Fred is saying out of the corner of his mouth. "If only I hadn't tried to sell her Puking Pastilles yesterday..."

"We could try the Fever Fudge," George suggests, "no one's seen that yet-"

"Does it work?" Ron asks hopefully, as the hammering of the rain on the roof intensifies and the wind howls around the building.

"Well, yeah," Fred replies, "your temperature'll go right up-"

"But you get these massive pus-filled boils, too," George says, "and we haven't worked out how to get rid of them yet."

"I don't see any boils," Ron says, staring at them.

"Well, you wouldn't," Fred says darkly, and he cats me a furtive look before returning his gaze to his younger brother, "They're not in a place we generally display to the public."

"But they make sitting on a broom a right pain in the-"

"All right, everyone, listen up," Angelina says loudly, emerging from the Captain's office. "I know it's not exactly ideal weather, but we might be playing the Slytherins in conditions like this, so it's a good idea to figure out how we're going to cope in them. Harry, didn't you do something to your glasses to stop the rain from fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?"

"Hermione did it," Harry replies, nodding. He pulls out his wand, taps his glasses, and says, " _Impervius_!"

"I think we all ought to try that," Angelina says. "If we could just keep the rain off our faces it could really help with visibility - all together, come on -  _Impervius_! Okay, let's go."

We all stow our wands back in the pockets of our robes, shoulder our brooms, and follow Angelina out of the changing rooms and onto the pitch. We squelch through the deepening mud to the middle of the pitch. Even with the charm, visibility is still very poor. Light is fading fast and curtains of rain are sweeping the grounds.

"All right, on my whistle," Angelina shouts.

At the sound of her whistle, I kick off into the air with the rest of the team, spraying mud in all directions, the wind pulling me slightly off course.

I have no idea how we're going to manage to play in this weather. None of us seem to know what we're doing. I feel particularly bad for Harry, who has to find the tiny snitch in conditions like this. I can barely see when the Quaffle is being thrown to me, and very nearly get hit by the Bludger we're practising on twice. I can hardly tell whether or not any of the shots Angelina, Katie, and I are throwing are getting in, and forgetting the visibility problems, the fierce wind is making everything go slightly off course and it's doing nothing but picking up.

In spite of this, Angelina keeps us at it for nearly an hour until finally admitting defeat. She leads the sodden and disgruntled team back into the changing rooms, insisting that the practice hadn't been a waste of time, but with no real conviction in her voice. Fred and George look particularly annoyed; they're both bandy-legged and wince with every movement. As I towel my hair dry, I can distinctly hear them complaining in low voices.

"I think a few of mine have ruptures," Fred says in a hollow voice.

"Mine haven't," George says through clenched teeth, "they're throbbing like mad... feel bigger if anything."

Suppressing a smile, I turn away from them and continue working on drying my hair.

"OUCH!" a voice cries very suddenly, causing me to spin around and find Harry pressing the towel to his head, his eyes screwed shut with pain.

"What's up?" several voices ask him.

Harry emerges from behind his towel.

"Nothing," he murmurs. "Just poked myself in the eye, that's all..."

But he shoots Ron and I meaningful looks, so the three of us hang deliberately behind as the rest of the team files back outside, muffled in their cloaks, their hats pulled low over their ears.

"What happened?" Ron asks, the moment Angelina disappears through the door. "Was it your scar?"

Harry nods.

"But..." Ron begins, but trails off, striding across to the window and looking through the rain-washed window, "he - he can't be near us now, can he?"

"No," Harry says, sinking onto a bench and rubbing his forehead. "He's probably miles away. It hurt because... he's... angry."

"Did you see him?" Ron says, looking horrified. "Did you... get a vision, or something?"

Harry sits very still for several moments, staring fixedly at his feet, but does not seem to really be seeing them.

"He wants something done, but it's not happening fast enough," he says suddenly.

"But..." I begin uncertainly, my eyes flickering over to Ron to find he looks just as lost as I do, "how - how do you know?"

Harry shakes his head and covers his eyes with his hands. Ron and I exchange nervous looks again, before sitting down on either side of Harry.

"Is this what it was about last time?" Ron says in a hushed voice. "When your scar hurt in Umbridge's office? You-Know-Who was angry?"

Harry shakes his head.

"What is it, then?"

Again, Harry is silent for a very long time, so long that I'm very tempted to repeat Ron's question, but I decide to let him take his time. I imagine this is a very difficult thing for Harry to have to go through, and to be rushed certainly won't help things.

"Last time, it was because he was pleased," Harry begins. "Really pleased. He thought... something good was going to happen. And the night before we came back to Hogwarts... he was furious."

He looks round at Ron and I, the former gaping at him.

"You could take over from Trelawney, mate," he says in an awed voice.

"I'm not making prophecies," Harry says.

"No, you know what it is you're doing?" Ron says, looking both scared and impressed. "You're reading You-Know-Who's mind!"

"No," Harry says, shaking his head. "It's more like... his mood, I suppose. I'm just getting flashes of whatever mood he's in. Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year. He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I can feel it when he's feeling pleased, too..."

There's a pause, in which the only noise is the sound of the wind and rain lashing violently against the building. Finally, I take it upon myself to break the silence.

"You need to tell someone," I inform Harry.

"I told Sirius about it last time,"

"Well, then, tell him about it this time," Ron says.

"Can't, can I?" Harry says grimly. "Umbridge is watching the fires and the owls, remember?"

"Then go to Dumbledore," I say immediately. "He'd definitely want to know about this, Harry."

"I've told you, he already knows," Harry says shortly, getting to his feet, taking his cloak off the peg and swinging it around him. "There's no point in telling him again."

Ron and I glance at each other again, before going to fasten up our own cloaks, both of us watching Harry thoughtfully.

"Dumbledore would want to know," I insist.

Harry shrugs at that.

"C'mon... we've still got loads to do..."

We hurry back through the dark grounds, sliding and stumbling up the muddy lawns, none of us talking, each of us lost in our own thoughts. My mind is a jumbled up mess of emotions and thoughts, ranging from worry about Harry and how he has seemed to have acquired the ability to know Voldemort's emotions and fear, because if he was able to move up from only sensing when Voldemort felt hatred to know also knowing when he feels pleased, how much stronger could this connection become? And with his refusal to talk to someone who might have answers about it, it seems as thought it might only get worse.

I also admittedly feel a sense of burning curiosity. What is it that Voldemort wants done that isn't happening fast enough for him? I remember the night Harry first came to Grimmauld Place, the information given, about how Voldemort was searching for something he didn't have last time. A weapon. Has the Order managed to defeat him and keep it from him?. Who has it now? Where is it?

All these things aside, I feel very stressed about all the homework that still needs to be completed, and a sense of exhaustion after another long day. I look at my watch and let out a tiny sigh. It's barely quarter past eight.

"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," says Ron's voice, snapping me out of my thoughts so that I can follow Harry and Ron through the portrait hole and into the common room.

Apparently, Hermione had gone to bed early, as she's nowhere to be seen, leaving only Crookshanks curled in a nearby chair and an assortment of knobbly knitted house-elf hats lying on a table near the fire.

Ron and I, unable to help ourselves, keep throwing him anxious glances, but Harry has pulled out his Charms books and sets to work on finishing his essay, though I get the distinct impression that he's only feigning concentration. After a while of this, Ron and I exchange looks, stand up, and big him goodnight.

"We're going to have to find a way to convince him to talk to Dumbledore," Ron says quietly, once we're out of earshot from Harry. "Or anyone. He's got to get this figured out."

"Yes, I'm imagine so," I say, casting Harry a furtive and anxious look and biting my lip. "Who knows how much stronger Harry's... erm... connection with Voldemort can get as time goes on... I mean, at first, he could only feel when Voldemort felt hatred, and now look..."

"D'you think he actually could get visions?" Ron asks

"Well, the idea of visions seems a bit too much like Divination for it to seem like something possible," I begin nervously, looking away from Harry and back at Ron, "but it does seem like these are rather... different circumstances, doesn't it?"

"Different's definitely one word for it," Ron agrees. "'Scary' would be another. 'Mental' could work, too. There's a whole lot of words we could use here, isn't there?"

"It certainly seems so," I say with a little nod. I let out a tiny sigh, rubbing my face blearily. "I'll ask Hermione about it. Who knows, maybe she knows something about this kind of stuff? I don't think it'd really surprise me at this point."

"Me neither," Ron agrees, a tiny smile crossing his face. "Goodnight, Hazel."

"'Night, Ron," I reply, waving at him, turning away, and walking over to the girls' dormitories.

When I reach the door labelled 'Fifth Years', I find that Hermione's already fast asleep. Though slightly disappointed about not being able to discuss what had happened in the changing rooms, I privately feel relieved, as I'm quite exhausted and want nothing more than to sleep.

Deciding that it's not worth it to go through the trouble of changing, I kick off my shoes and throw myself onto the bed, barely able to close the curtains of my four-poster before sinking back into bed, fast asleep in seconds.

 

***

 

The next day, at breakfast, Harry tells us that he's found a place for us to practice Defence Against the Dark Arts - or, at least, that Dobby has found a place. It's a room on the seventh floor called the Room of Requirement. I'm slightly wary when he tells me, because sometimes things with Dobby aren't always very safe, but this wariness is overwhelmed by excitement.

At lunch, Angelina seeks out her team to inform us that the practice tonight is cancelled. I look out the window, where the rain is still falling heavily, and in spite of my love for Quidditch, feel intense relief.

"Good," Harry says quietly, when she tells Harry, Ron, and I, "because we've found a place for our first Defence meeting. Tonight, eight o'clock, seventh floor, opposite that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by those trolls. Can you tell Katie?"

She looks taken aback, but promised to tell the others all the same. Harry returns to his food as Angelina walks away, but Hermione is watching Harry warily.

"What?" Harry says thickly.

"Well... it's just that Dobby's plans aren't always very safe. Don't you remember when he lost you all the bones in your arm?"

"This isn't just some mad idea of Dobby's," Harry insists. "Dumbledore knows about it, too, he mentioned it to be at the Yule Ball."

"Dumbledore told you about it?" Hermione asks, her expression clearly.

"Just in passing, yeah," Harry replies, shrugging.

"Oh, well, that's all right, then," she says, and raises no more objections for the rest of the day.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I spend most of the day seeking out the people who had signed their names that day in Hogsmeade and telling them where to meet. By the end of dinner, I feel quite confident that all twenty-six people know where to go.

At half past seven, we leave the common room, Harry clutching the Marauder's Map in his hand. Technically speaking, as fifth years, we're allowed to be out until nine o'clock, but none of us can help looking around anxiously, scared of getting caught.

"Hold it," Harry says warningly, as we reach the top of the last staircase, unfolding the map, tapping it with his wand, and muttering, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

A map of Hogwarts appears on the blank surface, accompanied by the tiny moving dots that are labelled with names, showing where everyone in the castle is.

"Filch is on the second floor," Harry states, holding the map close to his face, "And Mrs. Norris is on the fourth."

"And Umbridge?" I ask, hoping that I'm keeping the nervousness out of my voice.

"In her office," Harry replies. "Okay, let's go."

We hurry along the corridor to the place Dobby described to Harry, the stretch of blank wall opposite the tapestry depicting Barnabas' foolish attempt to teach trolls ballet. As I look at it, a small frown crosses my face. I get the odd feeling that I've been here before.

"Okay," Harry says quietly, snapping me out of my thoughts, as a moth-eaten troll pauses in its relentless clubbing of the would-be ballet teacher to watch us, "Dobby said to walk past this wall three times, concentrating hard on what we need."

We do so, turning sharply at the window just beyond the blank stretch of wall, then at the man-sized vase at the other side. Ron's eyes are screwed up in concentration, Hermione is whispering something under her breath, Harry's fists are clenched as he stares ahead of him, and I mouth what I'm thinking silently.

 _We need somewhere to learn how to fight,_ I think determinedly.  _We need somewhere to practice, somewhere they can't find us..._

"Harry!" Hermione says sharply, as we wheel around after our third walk past.

A highly polished wall has appeared in the wall. Ron is watching it warily. Harry reaches out, seizing the brass handle, pulls the door open, and leads the way into the spacious and lit room with flickering torches like the dungeons eight floors below us. I glance back at the tapestry before I walk in behind Ron, and it hits me when I've been in this room.

It was during the first weekend of the term, when Fred and I were very close to a detention with Filch. Now that I think about it, from Fred's desire to 'go somewhere private', as he called it, and then running away from Filch, we  _had_ passed that tapestry three times. The only different, I note, is that this is very spacious room is the ideal place to practice Defence Against the Dart Arts, with its walls lined with wooden bookshelves, large silk cushions on the floor instead of chairs, a set of shelves at the far end of the room carrying a large range of instruments such as Sneakoscopes, Secrecy Sensors, and a large, cracked Foe-Glass, whereas the room Fred and I had been in was an abandoned, particularly dusty classroom.

"These will be good when we practice stunning," Ron says enthusiastically, prodding one of the cushions with his foot.

"And look at these books!" Hermione says excitedly, unsurprisingly hurrying over to one of the shelves and running a finger over the spines of the large, leather-bound tomes. " _Compendium of Commun Curses and their Counter Actions... The Dark Arts Outsmarted... Self-Defensive Spellwork..._ wow..." Hermione looks around at us, her face glowing, and I realise that being in the presence of so many books so unlike  _Defensive Magical Theory_ has finally convinced her that what we're doing is right. "Harry, this is wonderful, there's everything we need here."

Without further ado, she slides  _Jinxes for the Jinxed_ from its shelf, sinks into the nearest cushion, and begins to read. I grin at Harry, before walking to the far end of the room and examining the Dark Detectors on the shelf.

As I pick up one of the Secrecy Sensors and examine it with interest, there's a gently knock on the door, and in come Ginny, Neville, Lavender, Parvati, and Dean.

"Whoa," Dean says, staring around the room and looking as impressed as I feel. "What is this place?"

Harry begins to explain, but before he can finish, several more people arrive and he has to start over again. By the time eight o'clock arrives, every cushion is occupied. Harry moves over to the door and turns the key protruding from the lock. It clicks in a satisfyingly loud way, and everyone falls silent, staring at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hermione carefully marking her page of  _Jinxes for the Jinxed_ and setting it aside.

"Well," Harry says, slightly nervous, "this is the place we've found for practice sessions, and you've - er - you've obviously found it okay."

"It's fantastic!" Cho exclaims, and several people murmur their agreement.

"It's bizarre," Fred says, looking around and frowning slightly. "We once hid from Filch in here, remember, Hazel? Except then it was a disused classroom."

I turn to look at him, and when our eyes meet he gives e a tiny wink, obviously remembering that hiding from Filch had ended in a great deal of snogging. I shake my head and turn away from him, turning pink but still hiding a smile with difficulty.

"Hey, Harry, what's this stuff?" Dean asks from the rear of the room, indicating the instruments on the shelf.

"Dark Detectors," Harry replies, stepping between the cushions to reach them. "Basically they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around, but you don't want to rely on them too much, because they can be fooled."

He gazes into the cracked Foe-Glass, before turning his back on it and facing everyone again.

"Well, I've been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and - er - what, Hermione?"

For Hermione had her hand raised.

"I think we ought to elect a leader," she says.

"Harry's leader," Cho says immediately, looking at Hermione as though she's mad.

"Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly," Hermione says, looking undisturbed. "It makes it formal and gives him authority. So - everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?"

Everyone raises their hands at this, even Zacharias Smith, though he does it halfheartedly.

"Er - right, thanks," Harry says, looking embarrassed. "And - what, Hermione?"

"I also think we ought to have a name," Hermione says brightly, her hand still in the air. "It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

"Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?" Angelina says hopefully.

"Or the Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?" Fred suggests.

"You know," I say, looking at Angelina and Fred in amusement, "maybe we should choose a name that  _won't_ completely give us away, so we can refer to it outside meetings without giving everything away."

"The Defence Association?" Cho says. "The DA for short, so nobody knows what we're talking about?"

"Yeah, the DA's good," Ginny says. "Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army, because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?"

There's a great deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this.

"All in favour of the DA?" Hermione says bossily, kneeling up on her cushion to count. "That's the majority - motion passed!"

She pins the piece of parchment with all of our signatures on it onto the wall and wrote across the top in large letters:  _DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY._

"Right," says Harry, when Hermione sits down again, "shall we get practising, then? I was thinking, the first we should do is  _Expelliarmus_ , you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it's pretty basic but I've found it's really useful-"

"Oh, please," Zacharias Smith says, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes, "I don't think  _Expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?"

"I've used it against him," Harry says quietly. "It saved my life in June."

Smith opens his mouth stupidly. The rest of us are very quiet.

"But if you think it's beneath you, you can leave," says Harry. When nobody moves, including Smith, Harry continues, "Okay, I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practice."

Everyone gets to their feet and divides into pairs. I notice Neville is left partner less, so I walk over to him, patting his arm as I draw level with him, and move a few steps away from him, before enthusiastically saying, "Come on, Neville, let's do this."

"Right, on the count of three, then," Harry says, as everyone draws their wands.

The room is suddenly full of shouts of the Disarming Charm. I end up being too quick for Neville, whose wand goes spinning out of his hand, hitting the ceiling fan in a shower of sparks, and landing with a clatter at the top of a bookshelf. I retrieve it with a Summoning Charm and toss it back to Neville.

Glancing around, I decide that Harry is right with starting with a basic, noticing the amount of shoddy spell work going on; many people aren't managing to Disarm their opponents, only succeeding in making them jump back a few paces or else making them wince as the feeble spell whooshes over them.

" _Expelliarmus_!" Neville cries, and I, caught by surprise, feel my wand fly out of my hand. Neville looks gleeful, saying, "I did it! I've never done it before - I DID IT!"

"Nice one!" I congratulate him, grinning, deciding not to point out that in most circumstances, someone that you're duelling would be unlikely to be looking in the opposite direction with their wand held loosely at their side.

He beams at me as he tosses my wand back at me. We continue to practice, most of it consisting of me disarming Neville, until there's the sound of a whistle blowing. Neville and I lower our wands, looking around for the source of the nose, and find Harry holding a whistle in his hand. I wonder for a moment where he got it, until I remember that this room provides a person with anything they might need.

"That wasn't bad, but there's definitely room for improvement," Harry states, ignoring Smith glaring at them. "Let's try again."

He moves around the room again, as we continue with Disarming each other. Neville still isn't the best at it, but as time goes on, he does get gradually better, though not by very much.

" _Expelliarmus_!" Neville says, but when all that happens is that I give a slight wince as the spell whooshes over me, he looks discouraged.

"C'mon, Neville, that was all right," I say encouragingly, but when he raises his eyebrows, I say, "All right, well, I know you can do it. Come on, give it another go."

It continues on like that, until Harry blows his whistle again, causing the shouting to stop and the last couple of wands to clatter onto the floor. I glance at my watch and find, to my surprise, that it's ten past nine. How time had flown by so quickly, I have no clue.

"Well, that was pretty good," Harry says, "but we've overrun, we better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?"

"Sooner!" Dean says eagerly, and many people nod in agreement.

Angelina, however, quickly says, "The Quidditch season's about to start, we need team practices, too!"

"Let's say next Wednesday night, then," Harry says, "and we can decide on additional meetings them. Come on, we'd better get going."

He pulls out the Marauder's Map again, and people start leaving in threes and fours. When he, Ron, Hermione, and I are the last ones left, I turn to him, beaming.

"That was brilliant, Harry!" I say happily.

"Yeah, it was!" Ron says enthusiastically, as we slip out of the door and watch it melt back into the stone behind us. "Did you see me Disarm Hermione, Harry?"

"Only once," Hermione says, strung. "I got you loads more times than you got me-"

"I did not only get you once, I got you at  _least_ three times-"

"Well, if you're counting the time you tripped over your own feet and knocked my wand out of my hand-"

They argue all the way back to Gryffindor tower. Much too used to their bickering, I only half listen to them, occupying the other half of my mind with excitement for what future meetings will hold in store.


	28. The Lion and the Serpent

**Ours**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Lion and the Serpent**

 

Over the next few weeks, the fact that the DA is resisting Umbridge and the Ministry, doing the exact thing that they fear most, keeps me going through Umbridge's classes, even when we're reading the dullest and most useless of chapters from Slinkhard's book, allowing me to even smile at her when her eyes meet mine.

It's almost impossible to fix a regular day in which the DA can meet, having to accommodate Quidditch practices for three separate teams, which often get rescheduled due to the bad weather conditions, but that's hardly a bad thing. After all, if someone is watching us, they won't be able to come up with a pattern.

Hermione soon devises a very clever method of communicating a time and date for the next meeting to all members, in case it's needed to change it on short notice, because it would look awfully suspicious if people from different houses are seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gives each member of the DA a Galleon (Ron became very excited when he first saw the basket, convinced that Hermione was handing out real gold)

"You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?" Hermione says, holding one up for examination at the end of our fourth meeting. "On real Galleons it's just a serial number referring to the goblin who made the coin. On these fake coins, though, the Galleons will change to reflect the time and date of our next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in your pocket you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he'll change the numbers on the coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic his."

A blank silence follows Hermione's words. She looks around at the faces staring at her, looking slightly discouraged.

"Well - I thought it was a good idea," Hermione says uncertainly. "I mean, even if Umbridge asks us to turn out our pockets, there's nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon around, is there? But... well, if you don't want to use them-"

"You can do a Protean Charm?" Terry Boot says.

"Yes," Hermione replies.

"But that's... that's NEWT standard, that is," he says weakly.

"Oh," says Hermione, trying to look modest. "Oh... well... yes, I suppose it is."

"How come you're not in Ravenclaw?" he demands, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. "With brains like yours?"

"Well the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw," Hermione says brightly, "but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So, does that mean we're using the coins?"

There's a murmur of assent and everyone walks towards her to collect one from the basket.

"You know what these remind me of?" Harry says to Hermione.

"No, what?"

"The Death Eaters' scars. Voldemort touches one, and all of their scars burn, and they know they've got to join him."

"Well... yes," Hermione says quietly, "that is where I got the idea... but you'll notice that I decided to engrave the dates on bits of metal as opposed to on our members' skin."

"Yeah, I prefer your way," Harry says, grinning as he slips his in his pocket. "The only danger here is that we might accidentally spend them."

"Fat chance," Ron says, looking at his Galleon with a slightly mournful air. "I haven't got any real Galleons to confuse it with."

As the first match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, draws nearer, the DA meetings are put to a hold, as Angelina has started scheduling almost daily practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup hasn't been held for so long adds considerable interest and excitement to the forthcoming match; the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are taking lively interest in the outcome of the game, as they will be facing both teams as the year progresses; the Heads of houses, though they attempt to disguise it under the pretence of sportsmanship, both desperately want to see their house victorious. I realise just how much McGonagall cares about Gryffindor beating Slytherin when she abstains from giving us homework the week leading up to the match.

"I think you've got enough to be getting on with at the moment," she says loftily. Nobody can believe their ears, though it explains her meaning perfectly, when she turns directly to Harry, Ron, and I, and grimly says, "I've become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my office, you three, and I really don't want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practice, won't you?"

Snape is no less obviously based. He books the Quidditch pitch for the Slytherin team so often that the Gryffindor team has difficulty getting on it to practice ourselves. He also turns a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherins attempting to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Katie Bell turns up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast they obscure her vision and obstruct her vision and obstruct her mouth, Snape states that she must have been attempting a Hair-Thickening Charm on herself and ignores the fourteen eyewitnesses that insist that they saw Slytherin Keeper, Mile Bletchley, hit her from behind with the jinx while she was working in the library.

I feel fairly optimistic about Gryffindor's chances. After all, we haven't lost to Slytherin in years. Admittedly, Ron isn't performing quite up to Wood's standards, but Wood had been an outstanding player, and Ron is working very hard to improve. The worst problem remains to be losing his confidence after making a mistake. If he's to miss one goal, he gets all flustered, which makes it more likely to him to miss more. On the bridge side, however, Ron has made some spectacular saves when he was on form. During one memorable practice, he had hung one-handed on his broom and kicked the Quaffle so hard away from the goal hoop that it soars across the pitch and through the centre hoop at the other end. The rest of the team felt as though it compares favourable to a save made recently by Barry Ryan, the Irish International Keeper, against Poland's top Chaser, Ladislaw Zamojski. Even Fred says that Ron might make him and George proud, and that they're seriously considering admitting being related to him, something that they assured him they'd been denying for four years.

The most worrying thing is how much Ron's allowing the Slytherin team's tactics to upset him before we can even get on the pitch. I've endured the Slytherin's comments for three years, so Malfoy saying things like that he'll do his best to make sure the Beaters on his team don't aim their Bludgers too hard at me, knowing how delicate I am, does nothing but make me laugh and point out that the Beaters on his team are so terrible that they can hit as hard as they want, but their bats will probably still miss the Bludger. Harry has endured the Slytherins even longer than I have, so whispers of, "Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday," makes Harry laugh as oppose to feel fear, retorting, "Warrington's aim is so pathetic that I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me," causing Ron, Hermione, and I to laugh, and the smirk on Pansy Parkinsons' face to disappear.

But Ron has never had to endure a relentless campaign of insults, jeers, and intimidation. When Slytherins, some seventh years and considerably larger than he is, mutter things like, "Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?" he doesn't laugh, but turns a delicate shade of green. When Malfoy imitates Ron dropping the Quaffle (which he does everytime they come within sight of each other), Ron's ears turn red and his hands start shaking so badly that he's likely to drop whatever he's holding at the time, as well.

The morning of the match dawns bright and cold. I wake with the usual feelings of excitement and nervousness fighting to take control, so that I feel particularly fidgety. After I have changed, I stare at my Nimbus 2001 for several moments, and it's then that I realise that the nervousness is starting to win out, as it normally does. Regardless of this, I shoulder my broom and follow Hermione out of the girls' dormitories and into the common room.

We meet Ginny in the common room, and when we enter the Great Hall, Hermione and Ginny wearing red and gold scarves, gloves, and rosettes, we find the talk is louder and more exuberant than usual. As we pass the Slytherin table, there are several catcalls and jeers sent my way. I look around and notice that, in addition to the usual green and silver hats and scarves, every person at the table is wearing a silver badge in the shape of what appears to be a crown. A closer look at the badge shows that they all read:  _Weasley is our King._

I exchange nervous looks with Hermione and Ginny, who have noticed them as well, before moving onto the Gryffindor table, where everyone is earing red and gold and I'm greeted with a rousing welcome.

We sit down across from Harry and Ron, the last of whom is staring at the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl as though seriously considering drowning himself in them. I think of the badges the Slytherins are wearing and feel an unpleasant jolt. He can't find out about them. I don't know how long I can keep him from finding out about them, but I certainly will try my best.

"How're you?" Ginny asks Ron.

"He's just nervous," Harry says, when Ron says nothing.

"Well, that's good, I feel as though you never perform as good in exams if you're not a bit nervous," Hermione says heartily.

"Hello," a vague and dreamy voice says, and I look up to find Luna Lovegood there, sporting a hat shaped like a life-sized lion's head, which perches precariously on her head, causing several people to point and laugh at her. "I'm supporting Gryffindor," she states, pointing at her hat, though her words and her actions are both entirely unnecessary. "Look what it does..."

She reaches up and taps the hat with her wand. It opens its mouth widely and gives an extremely realistic roar that makes everybody in the vicinity jump.

"It's good, isn't it?" Luna says happily. "I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, but I didn't have enough time. Anyway... good luck, Ronald!" she drifts away.

We haven't quite recovered from the shock of Luna's hat when Angelina comes up to us, accompanied by Katie, whose eyebrows have returned to normal.

"When you're ready," Angelina says, "we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out the conditions, and change."

"We'll be there in a minute," Harry assures her. "Ron's just got to have some breakfast."

It becomes clear after ten minutes, however, that Ron isn't going to eat anymore, and Harry glances at me in a way that shows me he agrees that we ought to just get him to the changing rooms. As we rise from the table, Hermione gets up as well, taking Harry and I by the arm and dragging us to the side.

"Don't let Ron see what's on the Slytherins; badges," she says urgently, and I nod in agreement, glad that she seems to be thinking the same thing as I am.

Harry looks questioningly at us, but I shake my head, as Ron comes ambling towards us, looking lost and desperate.

"Good luck, Ron," Hermione says, going up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. "And you, too, Harry, Hazel-"

Ron seems to come to himself as we walk across the Great Hall. He touches the spot where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though not understanding what had just happened. He seems too distracted to notice much of what's around him, and I feel grateful for it, as it makes him more unlikely to notice the Slytherins' badges. Once we pass the table, I nudge Harry and cock my head in the direction of the Slytherins. He reads the badges, before looking away, looking worried as his eyes flicker over to Ron.

Even with Ron's distracted demeanour, I decide not to risk anything, so I nudge Ron and say, "Come on, I'll race you guys to the pitch," and take off running.

After a moment, I hear footsteps pounding after me, and then another set of footsteps, and feel relieved. The frosty grass crunches under our feet as we race up the sloping lawns towards the stadium. There's no wind at all and the sky is a uniform pearly white, which means the visibility will be good without the drawback of having the sun in your eyes.

Angelina is already changed and talking to the team by the time we've burst through the doors to the changing room, slightly out of breath. In spite of my head start, Ron won, which isn't too surprising considering his longer legs and my terrible clumsiness. Harry was close behind, and I followed after, but in my defence, it was very, very close.

We pull on our robes (Ron attempts to do his up back-to-front for several minutes, before I take pity on him, say, "Oh, come here, then," and help him), then sit down and listen to the pre-match talk while the babble of voices outside grows steadily louder as the crowd comes pouring out from the castle and onto the pitch.

"Okay, I've only just found out the lineup for Slytherin" Angelina says, pulling out a piece of parchment. "Last year's Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left, but it looks as though Montague has replaced them with the usual pair of gorillas, as opposed to someone who can actually fly well. They're two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don't know much about them-"

"We do," Harry, Ron, and I say together.

"Believe me, Angeline, we haven't got anything to worry about with them," I assure her.

"I did think they didn't look bright enough to know one end of a broom from the other," Angelina comments, nodding and pocketing the parchment, "but then again I was always surprised that Derrick and Bole could get to the pitch without signposts."

"Crabbe and Goyle are in the same mould," Harry states.

We can hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators' stands. Some people are singing, though I can't make out the words. If the nervousness was starting to win out before, it's nothing compared to now, but I know my nerves are nothing in comparison to Ron's, who's clutching his stomach and staring straight ahead, his jaw set and complexion a pale grey.

"It's time," Angelina says in a hushed voice, checking her watch. "C'mon, everybody... good luck."

We all rise, shouldering our brooms, and march out of the changing rooms and onto the pitch in a single file. A roar of sound greets us in which I can still hear the singing, though it's drowned out even more by the sound of whistles and cheers.

The Slytherin team is standing and waiting for us. They, too, are wearing the crown-shaped badges. I glance over at Ron again, but he's not studying the badges too closely. The new captain, Montague, is built like Dudley Dursley, with massive forearms like hairy hams. Behind him lurks Crabbe and Goyle, blinking stupidly in the sunlight and swinging their new Beater's bats. I look from them to Fred and Goyle and can't help feeling pleased, knowing that Crabbe and Goyle won't stand a chance against them.

"Captains, shake hands," orders Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reach other. I can tell that Montague is trying to crush Angelina's fingers, though she doesn't wince, much to my delight. "Mount your brooms..."

Madam Hooch places the whistle in her mouth and blows. The balls are released and the fourteen players shoot upwards. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Ron shooting off towards the goalposts. Angelina gets the Quaffle immediately, zooming off towards the Slytherin goalposts. I fly a little ahead of her, ready to get at the Quaffle if necessary.

"And it's Johnson - Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me-"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall yells, and I grin.

"-just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest - and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's - ouch - been hit by a Bludger from behind by Crabbe... Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and - nice Bludger from George Weasley of Gryffindor, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie, Katie Bell of Gryffindor who reverse-passes to Hazel Knight and Knight's away..."

I zoom up the pitch, moving out of reach of Warrington and narrowly dodging a Bludger.

"... and the crowd is loving this, just listen to them, what are they singing?" Lee says, and as he pauses to listen, the song rises loud and clear from the Slytherin side of the stands.

" _Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring,_

_That's why all the Slytherins sing:_

_Weasley is our King._

_Weasley was born in a bin,_

_He always lets the Quaffle in,_

_Weasley will make sure we win,_

_Weasley is our King._ "

"-and Hazel passes back to Angelina!" Lee says loudly, just as I do so, clearly trying to drown out the song. "Come on, now, Angelina - looks like she's got the Keeper beat! - SHE SHOOTS - SHE - aaah..."

Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, saves the goal. He throws the Quaffle to Warrington, who speeds off with it, zigzagging between Katie and I, and the singing grows louder and louder as he draws nearer and nearer to Ron.

" _Weasley is our King,_

_Weasley is our King,_

_He always lets the Quaffle in,_

_Weasley is our King._ "

I speed forward, watching Ron, a long figure at the end of the pitch, hovering over the three hoops as the massive figure of Warrington pelts towards him.

"-and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for the goal, he's out of the Bludger's range with just the Keeper ahead-"

A great swell of song rises from the Slytherin section of the stands below:

" _Weasley cannot save a thing,_

 _He cannot block a single ring..._ "

"-so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper Weasley, brothers of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team - come on, Ron!"

But the scream of delight comes from the Slytherin end, for Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared straight through them and into the middle hoop.

"Slytherin score!" comes Lee's voice amid all the cheering and booing from the crowds. "So that's ten-nil to Slytherin - bad luck, Ron."

The Slytherins sing louder than ever.

" _WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,_

 _HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN._ "

"-and Gryffindor's back in posession and it's Katie Bell tanking up the pitch-" Lee cries valiantly, but it's no use, since the singing is now so loud that he can barely make himself heard over it.

" _WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN,_

 _WEASLEY IS OUR KING!_ "

I soar across the pitch to keep up with Katie, putting an extra spurt of speed as I notice Warrington flying over to her to take the Quaffle, but it's no good, he manages to take it from her.

"-and it's Warrington again," Lee bellows, still giving a brave attempt to be heard over the singing, "who passes Pucey, Pucey's off past Bell, come on, Hazel, you can take him - turns out you can't - but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley - I mean, George Weasley - oh, who cares? - one of them, anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell - er - drops it, too - so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin captain Montague with the Quaffle, and he's off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!"

I manage to take the Quaffle from Warrington, passing to Angelina, who goes to pass to Katie, but Montague intercepts the pass and passes to Warrington, who passes to Pucey, who manages to dodge Katie's attempt to get the Quaffle.

"-and Pucey's dodged Katie and he's heading straight for the goal, stop it, Ron!"

But Ron doesn't stop it. There's a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end of the stands, drowned out with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherin end. Looking down, I see Pansy Parkinson right at the front of the stands, her back turned to the pitch as she conducts the Slytherin supporters, who are roaring:

" _THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING,_

 _WEASLEY IS OUR KING_!"

But twenty-nil, I try to remember, is nothing. We can still easily catch up to that, and Harry can still catch the Snitch. I remind myself that all that's needed is a few goals and Gryffindor will be in the lead as usual.

The problem with this is that Ron lets in two more goals. An edge of panic is starting to settle in. I shake it off, however, because panic usually does nothing but make people perform worse.

More determined for Gryffindor to catch up than ever, if only to get the attention off of Ron's poor performance, I take the Quaffle from Montague and zoom up the pitch. I dodge Pucey, swerve to duck Montague, throwing the Quaffle to Angelina. Angelina catches the Quaffle, dodging Warrington, heading for the goal. She shoots, and I let out a sigh of relief. She's scored.

I hear Luna's lion roar and feel heartened. Thirty isn't that bad, after all, we can easily still catch up.

"-Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey - Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good - I mean, bad - Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and Pucey's back in possession again..."

" _WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,_

_HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN,_

_WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN..._ "

I glance anxiously over at Ron, and zoom up the pitch towards Pucey. Once I draw level with him, I snatch the Quaffle from him and fly back down the pitch towards the Slytherin goals. I pass to Katie, but the pass is intercepted by Warrington. Before Warrington can do anything, though, Angelina takes the Quaffle from him, passing to Katie, who reverse-passes to me, and I, closer than anyone else, fly towards the goal hoops.

"-and it's Hazel in possession, she dodges Montague - nice swerve - but there's a Bludger sent by Goyle of Slytherin coming straight towards her - nice save from George Weasley - or is it Fred? - oh, whatever, you get the idea - and Hazel's streaking up the pitch, she's almost there, she's out of the Bludger's range, it's just the keeper ahead - come on, Hazel! - she's got it, you've got it - GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's twenty to forty now to Slytherin and Warrington's in possession..."

As I fly, I look down and see, with a jolt, Harry and Malfoy neck and neck. They must've seen the Snitch. Unable to help it, I watch as they both dive down, reaching forward, groping desperately for it. But then Harry pulls his broom upwards, holding his hand in the air and - yes, there is it, the snitch is clutched tightly in his hand.

I let out a scream of delight, unable to help myself, but it's drowned out by those at the Gryffindor end of the pitch. I'm just about to fly over to him, when Crabbe aims a Bludger at Harry that hits him squarely in the back, and he flies forward and off his broom. Luckily, he's only a few feet off the ground, having dived very low to catch the Snitch, but I'm still furious. As I fly down to the ground towards him, there's the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle, and an uproar from the stands containing catcalls, angry yells, and jeering.

I land with a thud, dismounting my broom, and hurrying towards Harry, who's lying flat on his back and looking winded.

"You alright?" I ask anxiously, holding out a hand to help him up. "Oh, it was Crabbe, the bloody moron, he got all mad and whacked you with the Bludger when he saw you got the Snitch, as if that does anything, the idiot - oh, whatever - are you alright?"

"'Course I am," he says grimly, taking it and allowing me to help him to his feet.

A grin breaks across my face.

"Good, because we've won," I state, and promptly fling my arms around him in a hug.

As we pull away, there's a snort, and we turn to find that Malfoy has landed close by. White-faced with fury, he's still managing to sneer.

"Saved Weasley's neck, didn't you?" he says to Harry. "I've never seen a worse Keeper... but then he was born in a bin... did you like my lyrics, Potter?"

Harry doesn't answer, and we both turn away as members of our team lands around us, all of them yelling and punching the air triumphantly. All except for Ron, who lands by the Gryffindor goalposts and heads for the changing rooms by himself. I watch him, my brow furrowed, and the sense of triumph is forgotten and replaced with worry, but at that moment, Angelina and Katie pull me into a hug, and I forget my worry for Ron - or I try to, anyway.

"We wanted to write a couple of other verses!" Malfoy calls, after I hug Fred and George and kiss the former quickly (admittedly thinking of the time where he and I had almost kissed after Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup with a tiny smile on my face). "But we couldn't find any rhymes for fat and ugly - we wanted to sing about his mother, you see-"

"Talk about sour grapes," Angelina says, sending Malfoy a disgusted look.

"Shut up, Malfoy, I'm warning you-" I say threateningly, my eyes flickering worriedly to Fred and George, who are shaking hands with Harry.

"-we couldn't fit in useless loser, either - for his father, you know-"

Fred and George seem to realise what Malfoy is talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffen, looking round at Malfoy.

"Leave it," I say immediately, turning my back on Malfoy and looking at Fred and George imploringly. "Leave it, alright, he's just mad he lost, the jumped up little-"

"Is that so?" Malfoy calls from behind me. "We could make a song up about you, you know, Knight. They'd probably talk a lot about how worthless you are and how you like to think that even the company  _you_ keep would still hang around with you if your useless parents weren't dead-"

At this, Fred launches himself at Malfoy, but I grab onto his arm and struggle with pulling him back.

"Leave it! Stay - out - of - it!" I pant, finally managing to drag him back behind me.

Keeping my grip on his arm just in case, I turn back to Malfoy.

"That was very good, Malfoy, really," I say serenely. "Out of curiosity, did you think of those before or after you lost?"

"After Weasley there missed his third goal in a row," Malfoy says. "Honestly, how pathetic can you get?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry says through clenched teeth, as I tighten my grip on Fred's arm, as he's getting closer to snapping again.

"Oh, but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" says Malfoy, sneering "Spend the holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you can stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasley's hovel smells okay-"

Harry grabs hold of George, meanwhile I have to put my full effort into stopping Fred from leaping on Malfoy again, who's laughing openly. I look round at Madam Hooch, but she's still busy with telling Crabbe off for his illegal Bludger attack.

"Or perhaps," Malfoy says, leering, even though he's backing away, "you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and the Weasley's pigsty remind you of it-"

Quite suddenly, Harry released George, and they both sprint towards Malfoy. Harry sinks his fist into Malfoy's stomach, and George punches him in the face, giving him a bloody nose.

"Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!" Angelina screams.

They ignore her, however, continuing in hitting Malfoy, who tries to fight back, but it's useless against the both of them. Fred struggles harder than ever, and I have to tighten my grip on him more than I thought possible, dragging him back with all my strength.

"You mustn't, Fred, you can't! Everyone's here, you'll be in loads of trouble," I say, but then remember that Fred's never been one to care much about getting in trouble. "It's what he wants, he wants you to react, you can't let him win!"

" _Impedimenta_!" Madam Hooch cries, and Harry and George finally stop fighting Malfoy, thrown back several feet from the force of the spell.

Malfoy is curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning with his bloody nose. George is sporting a swollen lip, Crabbe is cackling in the background, and in spite of the presence of a furious Madam Hooch, I still have to restrain a struggling Fred.

"I've never seen behaviour like it - back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!"

Harry and George turn on their heels and march off the pitch, panting and not speaking.

Now getting frustrated with Fred, I turn back to him and say, still tugging at his arm, "Come on, Madam Hooch and everyone else are right there! George and Harry got at him, and we can give him the rest of what he deserves later, if you like, when everybody isn't around!" I say, keeping my voice low at the last bit.

When he still struggles against my grip, I move forward in front of him and start pushing him back, but with his stocky frame, it doesn't help much. Deciding he won't relent until Malfoy is out of sight, I grab onto his arm again and start dragging him over to the changing rooms. It's awfully difficult, and all the while I'm saying an odd combination of soothing words along the lines of, "Come on, Fred, none of it's true, you know he's a git and you and your family are too good for him, you know it," and frustrated outbursts along the lines of, "For God''s sake, Fred, just leave it!" After a while, he stops struggling, and I feel relieved, though I keep my grip on his arm tight and don't let go until we're inside the changing rooms. When we walk in, I note that Ron is no longer in the changing rooms.

Fred throws himself onto one of the benches, crossing his arms and glaring at me.

"What'd you do that for?" he snaps.

"What the hell do you think?" I retort immediately. "Madam Hooch was right there, you saw her, she was livid. Who knows what McGonagall's going to do to them."

At that, I look out the changing room door, biting my lip nervously as I wonder what punishment McGonagall has in store due to their actions.

"So what, I'd've gotten a detention or two," he says, rolling his eyes. "It's nothing new, is it?"

"Well, no, but it's what Malfoy wanted, too," I point out, taking a step closer to where he sits. "And we can't give him what he wants, now can we?"

"You heard what he was saying," Fred says stubbornly, "about - about you - and - and my family - you can't expect me to just listen to it!"

"You have to," I insist. "At least until a point in time where there aren't teachers everywhere. We can get revenge on him later, if you like. Give him what he deserves."

"That could work," he admits.

I give him a small smile.

"See? And if all goes well, it'll be detention free," I add. "Now cheer up, alright, because we've won! Remember, that's what got him all wound up in the first place?"

"True," he mutters.

"And if all goes well, we'll keep up this whole winning thing, and the Quidditch Cup'll be ours, just like you said," I say.

"Also true," he says, his posture relaxing.

I grin triumphantly at this. I walk over to him and then lower my face so that our faces are level and very close together.

"And when we win - because we  _will_ win - Malfoy'll be standing there with that smug look wiped right off his face, because we'll have beaten him - him with all the gold in the world and his well-connection, so called better family - and no amount of stupid insults and songs are going to change that," I continue. "Just picture the look on Malfoy's face when we're all up there holding the Cup."

"You really know how to cheer me up, don't you?" he says, grinning.

"It just comes to me," I say in mock-arrogance, shrugging and smiling back at him.

"Well, this has just come to me," he states, before closing the space between our faces and kissing me, holding my cheek in one hand and tangling the fingers of his other hand in my hair.

I kiss him back immediately, taking his face in my hands. I kiss him back fiercely, partly wanting to take his mind off what had just happened, but the greater part of me simply enjoying kissing Fred Weasley, perhaps even more than I altogether should.

"You  _really_ know how to cheer me up," he says, when we pull away.

I let out a laugh.

"Well, let's see just how much  _you_ can cheer _me_ up," I say, and kiss him again.

I can feel him smiling into the kiss, and pull him closer to me at the realisation. Yes, Fred Weasley could cheer me up very well. Letting out an uncontrollable little sigh against his lips, I move one of my hands to his neck, playing with the hair at the back of it.

That is, until a voice from the door says, "Oh, for Merlin's sake, get a room!"

I all but fly away from Fred, turning bright pink and staring at Katie in embarrassment. Fred, however, doesn't seem very embarrassed, looking more amused at being caught than anything, but does at least pretend to look embarrassed. Katie is regarding us with an expression of mingled amusement and disgust.

"I'll let that one slide because we won," she states with a grin, "and of course you  _know_  how much you need to have your victory kiss."

"Oh, shut up," I say, crossing my arms and looking away, though there's a small smile on my face, as Angelina walks into the changing room, looking disgruntles.

We look at her expression and remember what had happened only moments ago, becoming grave again. We change in silence, before heading back up to the castle together, serious and silent as though we hadn't won the match at all.

 

***

 

"Banned," Angelina says in a hollow voice, later that day in the common room. "Banned. No Seeker and no Beaters... what on earth are we going to do?"

Harry and George had told us what had happened in McGonagall's office. That it would've only been a couple of detentions, had Umbridge not showed up with another decree that gave her supreme power over punishments, which includes the power to change punishments as she saw fit. And, of course, she saw it fit to change this punishment. Not only Harry and George, but Fred as well, are banned from playing Quidditch ever again, as Fred would've attacked Malfoy as well, if I hadn't held him back.

The atmosphere of the common room makes it seem as though we hadn't won - and, really, we basically have lost. Everywhere there are disconsolate and angry faces. The team is slumped around the fire, all except for Ron, who hasn't been seen since the end of the match.

"It's just so unfair," Katie says numbly. "I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?"

"No," says Ginny miserably; she and Hermione are sitting on either side of Harry. "He just got lines. I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner."

"And banning Fred when he hadn't even done anything!" Katie exclaims, pummelling her knee with her fist.

At this outburst, I turn to Fred, who's beside me, and look at him with a very grave expression on my face.

"I'm really, really sorry, Fred," I tell him seriously.

"For what?" he asks, pausing in glowering to look taken aback.

"For stopping you," I reply solemnly. "If I'd known that you were going to get kicked off the team either way, I would've let you do what you liked to the stupid git."

At this, I look away from him and stare miserably out the window, where snow is falling. The Snitch that Harry had caught is now zooming around the common room, and people are watching its progress, as though hypnotised, and Crookshanks is trying to catch it.

"I'm going to bed," Angelina says, getting slowly to her feet. "Maybe this will turn out to all have been a bad dream... maybe I'll wake up and find we haven't played yet..."

She's soon followed by Katie. Fred and George get up from either side of me and slope off to bed sometime later, glowering at everyone they pass, and Ginny goes not long after that. Only Harry, Hermione, and I are left by the fire.

"Have you seen Ron?" Hermione says in a low voice.

Harry and I shake our heads.

"I think he's avoiding us," Hermione says. "Where do you think he-"

But at that moment, there's a creaking sound behind us as the Fat Lady swings open and Ron comes clambering through the portrait hole. He's very pale, there's snow in his hair, and he's still in his Quidditch things. When he sees Harry, Hermione, and I, he stops dead in his tracks.

"Where have you been?" Hermione asks, springing up.

"Walking," Ron replies.

"You look frozen," Hermione says. "Come sit down!"

Ron walks to the fireside and sinks in the chair furthest from Harry and I, not looking at us. The stolen Snitch zooms over our heads.

"I'm sorry," Ron mumbles, looking down at his feet.

"For what?" I say blankly.

"For thinking I can play Quidditch," Ron answers. "I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow."

"If you resign, there'll only be three players left on the team," Harry says testily, and when Ron looks puzzled, he says, "I've been given a lifetime ban. So have Fred and George."

"What?" Ron yelps.

Hermione tells him the full story. When she finishes, Ron looks more anguished than ever.

"This is all my fault," he says.

"You didn't make me punch Malfoy," Harry says angrily.

"If I wasn't so terrible at Quidditch-"

"It's got nothing to do with that-"

"It was that song that wound me up-"

"It would've wound anyone up-"

I get up and walk towards the window, away from the argument, watching as the snow swirls down against the pane. I look across the ground with a little sigh. My eyes fall on Hagrid's cabin for a moment, before my eyes sweep back over to the rest of the grounds.

"Look, drop it, will you?" Harry burst out. "It's bad enough without you blaming yourself for everything!"

There's silence for a while, where my eyes suddenly dart back to Hagrid's cabin, because I've noticed something. Instead of it being dark and abandoned, as it had been for the past two months, there's a light on.

Hardly daring to believe what I'm seeing, I listen as Ron miserably says, "This is the worst thing I've ever felt in my life."

"Join the club," Harry says bitterly, and I allow myself to believe that Hagrid has finally returned, my former misery forgotten and replaced with a great amount of happiness.

"Well," I say, my voice trembling slightly with excitement, "I think I know something that might cheer you both right up."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry says sceptically.

"Yeah," I confirm, tearing my eyes away from Hagrid's cabin to turn my back on the window and face Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a broad grin crossing my face. "Hagrid's back."


	29. Hagrid's Giant Tale

**Ours**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Hagrid's Giant Tale**

 

We all sprint up to our respective dormitories, Harry going to get his Invisibility Cloak. I'm ready minutes before Hermione, tapping my foot impatiently as Hermione puts on a scarf, gloves, and one of her own knobbly house-elf hats.

"Come on, Hermione!" I say finally, taking her arm and dragging her out of the dormitory the moment she's put the second glove on her hand. "We need to go!"

"Well, it's cold out there!" she protests, as we move quickly down the corridor and down the spiralling staircase of the girls' dormitories.

"And I'm sure it'll be nice and toasty in Hagrid's cabin," I insist impatiently. "You know, Hagrid? The bloke we haven't seen in four months? The bloke who's  _finally_ back from his mission for the Order?"

I lower my voice at the last sentence, though we're quite alone as we descend the staircase.

"Yes, well, do excuse me for not wanting to freeze," Hermione says, as we burst into the common room.

"Four months, Hermione!" I repeat. "And two months more than it should've been. This is  _urgent_!"

"At least  _you_ see it," Ron mumbles, earning him a glare from Hermione.

Together, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I creep slowly through the portrait hole and cover ourselves hastily with the Cloak. Ron is now so tall that he needs to crouch down to prevent his feet from showing. Moving slowly and cautiously, we proceed down the many staircases, pauses to check the Marauder's Map for signs of Filch or Mrs. Norris. We're very lucky; we find nobody but Nearly Headless Nick, gliding along absent-mindedly and humming a tune that sounds horribly like 'Weasley is our King'. We creep across the Entrance Hall and onto the silent, snowy grounds. When I see the little golden square of light and the smoke coiling up from Hagrid's chimney more closely, my heart leaps, and we all quicken our pace. We crunch excitedly through the thickening snow until we finally reach the wooden front door. When Harry raises his fist and knocks on the door three times, a dog starts barking frantically inside.

 _Fang_ , I think happily.

"Hagrid, it's us," Harry says through the keyhole.

"Shoulda known!" says a gruff voice. Under the cloak, we all beam at each other, because we can tell from his voice that he's pleased. "Bin home three seconds... out of the way, Fang... out of the way, yeh dozy dog..."

The bolt is drawn back, the door creaks open, and Hagrid's head appears in the gap. Hermione screams.

"Merlin's beard, keep it down!" Hagrid says hastily, staring wildly over our heads. "Under that cloak, are yeh? Well, get in, get in!"

"I'm sorry," Hermione gasps, as we squeeze past Hagrid and into the house, which is, as I had predicted, very warm, pulling the cloak off of us so Hagrid can see us. "I just - oh, Hagrid!"

"It's nuthin', it's nuthin'," Hagrid says hastily, shutting the door quickly and hurrying to close all the curtains, but Hermione continues to stare up at him in horror - and for good reason.

Hagrid's hair is matted in congealed blood, and his left eye has been reduced to a puffy slit amid a mass of a purple and black bruise. There are many cuts on his hands and face, some of them still bleeding, and he's moving gingerly, his movements making me suspect broken ribs. It's very obvious that he had just returned, as a thick black travelling cloak is lying over the back of the chair, and a haversack large enough to carry several small children leans against the wall inside the door. Hagrid himself is now limping over to the fire and placing a copper kettle over it.

"What happened?" I demand worriedly, as Fang dances around us all in an attempt to lick our faces.

"Told yeh, nuthin'," Hagrid replies. "Want a cuppa?"

"Come off it," Ron says, "you're in a right state!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, I'm fine," Hagrid insists, turning around and beaming at us, but wincing in the process. "Blimey, it's good ter see yeh four again - had good summers, did yeh?"

"Hagrid, you've been attacked!" Harry says.

"Fer the last time, it's nuthin'," Hagrid says firmly.

"Would you say it was nothing is one of us turned up with a pound of mince instead of a face?" Ron demands.

"You ought to go and see Madam Pomfrey, Hagrid," Hermione says anxiously, "some of those cuts look nasty."

"I'm dealin' with it, alrigh'?" Hagrid says.

He walks over to the enormous wooden table in the middle of his cabin and twitches aside a tea towel that had been lying on it. Underneath it is a raw, bloody, green-tinged steak.

"You're not going to eat that, are you, Hagrid?" Ron says, peering closely at the steak. "It looks poisonous."

"It's s'pposed ter look like that, it's dragon meat," Hagrid says. "An' I didn' get it ter eat."

He picks up the steak and slaps it over the left side of his face. Greenish blood trickles down his face as he lets out a small moan of satisfaction.

"Tha's better. It helps with the stingin', yeh know."

"So, are you going to tell us what happened to you?" says Harry.

"Can't, Harry. Top secret. More'n me job's worth ter tell yeh that,"

"Did the giants beat you up, Hagrid?" Hermione asks quietly.

Hagrid's fingers slip on the dragon steak. It slides squelchily on his face to his chest.

"Giants?" Hagrid repeats, catching the steak before it slides onto his belt and slapping it over his face again. "Who said anythin' abou' giants? Who yeh bin talkin' to? Who's told yeh what I've - who said I've bin - eh?"

He's never been the best liar. Or the best at keeping secrets. Or the best at being subtle, for that matter.

"We guessed," Hermione says apologetically.

"Oh, yeh did, did yeh?" Hagrid says, surveying her carefully with the eye that isn't covered with a steak.

"It was kind of... obvious," Ron admits, and Harry and I nod.

Hagrid glares at us, before snorting, throwing the steak onto the table and striding over to the kettle, which is now whistling.

"Never known kids like you four fer knowin' more'n yeh oughta," he mutters, splashing boiling water into four of his bucket-sized mugs. "An' I'm not complimenting yeh, neither. Nosy, some'd call it. Interferin'."

But his beard twitches, a dead giveaway that he isn't really mad. I grin.

"So, you have been to look for giants?" I ask, sitting down.

Hagrid sits each cup of tea in front of us, sits down, picks his steak back up, and slaps it back on his face.

"Yeh, alrigh'," he grunts. "I have."

"And you found them?" Hermione says in a hushed voice.

"Well, they're not that difficult ter find, ter be honest. Pretty big, see," Hagrid replies, and my mouth twitches upward in a smile.

"Where are they?" Ron asks.

"Mountains," Hagrid answers, rather unhelpfully.

"So why don't Muggles-?"

"They do," Hagrid says darkly. "On'y their deaths are always put down ter mountaineering accidents, aren' they?"

He adjusts the steak a little so that it covers the worst of the bruising.

"Come on, Hagrid, tell us what you've been up to!" Ron says. "Tell us about being attacked by giants so that Harry and Hazel can tell you about being attacked by Dementors-"

Hagrid chokes on his drink and drops his steak at the same time; a large quantity of spit, tea, and dragon blood is sprayed over the table as Hagrid coughs and splutters, and the steak slides, with a soft splat, onto the floor.

"Whadda yeh mean, attacked by Dementors?" Hagrid growls.

"Didn't you know?" Hermione says, eyes wide.

"I don' know anythin' that's bin happenin' since I left. I was on a secret mission, wasn' I, didn' wan' owls followin' me around everywhere - ruddy Dementors! Yeh're not serious?"

"Yeah, I am," Harry replies. "They turned up in Little Whinging and attacked my cousin and Hazel and me, and then the Ministry of Magic expelled me after I used a Patronus-"

"WHAT?"

"-and I had to go to a hearing and Hazel has an eye-witness and everything, but tell us about the giants first."

"You were expelled!"

"Tell us about your summer and we'll tell you about ours," I state simply.

Hagrid glares at me through his one open eye. I stare right back at him, smiling serenly, entirely unabashed.

"Oh, alrigh'," Hagrid says in a resigned voice.

He bends down and tugs the dragon steak out of Fang's mouth.

"Oh, Hagrid, don't, that's not hygien-" Hermione begins, but it's too late; Hagrid has already slapped the meat back onto his face.

"Well, we set off righ' after term ended-" Hagrid begins, after taking another gulp of tea.

"Madame Maxime went with you, then?" Hermione interjects.

"Yeah, tha's righ'," Hagrid replies, and his face soften - or, at least, the part of his face that isn't covered by beard or dragon steak. "Yeah, it was jus' the pair of us. An' I'll tell yeh this, she's not afraid of roughin' it, Olympe. Yeh know, she's a fine, well-dressed woman, an' knowin' where I was goin' I wondered 'ow she would feel about clamberin' over boulders an' sleepin' in cave an' tha', bu' she never complained once."

"You knew where you were going?" I repeat. "You knew where the giants were?"

"Well, Dumbledore knew, an' he told us," Hagrid replies.

"Is it a secret, where they are?" Ron ass. "Are they hidden?"

"Not really," Hagrid replies, shaking his shaggy head. "It's jus' tha' most wizards aren' bothered where they are, 's'long as it's a long way away. But where they are's very difficult ter get there, fer humans anyways, so we needed Dumbledore's instructions. Took us about a month ter get there-"

"A month?" Ron repeats incredulously, looking as though he had never heard of a journey lasting such a long time. "But - why couldn't you just grab a Portkey or something?"

Hagrid gives Ron a very odd look. It's almost pitying.

"We're bein' watched, Ron," he says gruffly.

"What d'you mean?"

"Yeh don' understand," Hagrid says. "The Ministry's keepin' an eye on Dumbledore an' anyone they reckon might be in league with him-"

"Well, we know that," Harry cuts in quickly, "we know that the Ministry's watching Dumbledore."

"So you couldn't use magic to get there?" Ron says, looking thunderstruck. "You had to act like Muggles the whole way there?"

"Well, not exactly the whole way," Hagrid admits. "We jus' had to be careful, 'cause Olympe an' me, we stand out a bit-"

Ron makes a stifled noise somewhere between a snort and a sniff, and quickly takes a gulp of tea.

"-so we're not hard ter follow. We was pretendin' we was goin' on holiday together, so we got inter France an' we made like we was headin' for Olympe's school, 'cause we knew we was bein' tailed from someone in the Ministry. We had to go slow, 'cause I'm not really s'pposed ter use magic an' we knew the Ministry was lookin' fer an excuse ter run us in. But we managed to give the berk tailin' us the slip round abou' Dee-John-"

"Oooh, Dijon?" Hermione says excitedly. "I've been there on holiday, did you see-?"

She falls silent at the look Ron gives her.

"We chanced a bit o' magic after that an' it wasn' a bad hourney. Ran inter a couple o' mad trolls on the Polish border an' I had a slight disagreement with a vampire in a pub in Minsk, bu' apart from tha' it couldn't'a bin smoother.

"An' then we reached the place, an' we started trekkin' up the mountains, lookin' for signs of 'em... we had ter lay off with the magic once we got near 'em. Partly 'cause they don' like wizards and we didn' want them puttin' their backs up too soon, an' partly because Dumbledore warned us thhat You-Know-Who's Death Eaters were bound to be after the giants an' all. Said it was odds that he had sent a messenger ter them already. Told us ter be very careful of drawing attention ter ourselves in case there were Death Eaters around."

Hagrid pauses for a long draught of tea. I feel a thrill of impatience, as I had been listening to his story with rapt attention, feeling as though he must be doing this on purpose.

"Well, go on, then, Hagrid!" I say urgently.

"Found 'em," Hagrid continues badly. "Went over a ridge one nigh' and there they was, spread ou' underneath us. Little fires burnin' below and huge shadows... it was like watchin' bits o' the mountain movin'..."

"How big are they?" asks Ron in a hushed voice.

"'Bout twenty feet," Hagrid replies casually. "Some o' the bigger ones mighta bin around twenty-five..."

"And how many were there?" Harry says.

"I reckon about seventy or eighty," he replies.

"That's it?" I say, surprised.

"Yep," Hagrid says sadly, "there used ter be loads once, musta bin around a hundred diff'rent tribes all around the world. But they've been dyin' out fer ages. Wizards killed a few, o' course, bu' mostly they killed each other, an' now they're dyin' out faster than ever. They're not made ter live together like tha'. Dumbledore says it's our fault, it was the wizards who forced 'em to go an' made 'em live a good long way from us an' they had no choice but ter stick together fer their own protection."

"So," Harry says, "you saw them and then what?"

"Well, we waited 'til mornin', didn' want ter go sneakin' up on 'em in the dark, fer our own safety. 'Bout three in the mornin' they just fell asleep where they was sittin'. We didn' dare sleep. Fer one thing, we wanted ter make sure none of 'em woke up an' came up where we were, an' fer another, the snorin' was unbelievable. Caused an avalanche near mornin'.

"Anyway, once it was light we wen' down ter see 'em."

"Just like that?" Ron says, looking awestruck. "You just walked right into a giant camp?"

"Well, Dumbledore told us how ter do it," Hagrid says. "Give the Gurg gifts, show some respect, yeh know."

"Give the what gifts?" Harry asks.

"Oh, the Gurg - means the chief,"

"How could you tell which one was the Gurg?" I say.

Hagrid grunts in amusement.

"Wasn' hard," he says. "He was the biggest, the ugliest, an' the laziest. Sittin' there waitin' ter be brought food by the others. Name 'o karkus. I'd put him at twenty-two, twenty-three feet an' the weight o' a couple o' bull elephants. Skin like rhino hide an' all."

"And you just walked right up to him?" Hermione says breathlessly.

"Well... down ter him, where he was sittin' in the valley. There was a dip between four pretty high mountains, see, beside a mountain lake, an' Karkus was lyin' there by the lake roarin' at the others ter feed him and his wife. Olympe and I went down to the mountainside-"

"But didn't they try to kill you when they saw you?" Ron says incredulously.

"It was def'nitely on some o' their minds," Hagrid shrugs, "but we did what Dumbledore told us ter do, which was ter hold our gift up high an' keep our eyes on the Gurg an' ignore the rest. So tha's what we did. An' the rest of 'em was quiet an' watched us pass, an' we got right up to Karkus' feet an' we bowed an' put the gift righ' in front o' him."

"What do you give a giant?" Ron asks eagerly. "Food?"

"Nah, he can get food alrigh' for himself," Hagrid replies. "We took him magic. Giants like magic, jus' don' like us usin' it against 'em. Anyway, tha' first day we gave 'im a branch o' Gubraithian fire."

Hermione looks awed, and I look from her, to the confused looks on Harry and Ron's faces, to Hagrid and try to remember what Gubraithian fire is. It takes me several moments to remember that it's everlasting fire.

"What's-?" Ron begins.

"Everlasting fire," Hermione replies irritably. "You should know what it is by now, Professor Flitwick has mentioned it at least twice-"

"Well, anyway," Hagrid says quickly, intervening before Ron can say anything back, a very good idea in my opinion, "Dumbledore'd bewitched this branch ter burn fer evermore, which isn' somethin' any wizard could do, an' so I lied it down in the snow and said, 'A gift to the Gurg o' the giants from Albus Dumbledore, who sends his respectful greetings.'"

"And what did Karkus say?" Harry says eagerly.

"Nothin'," Hagrid replies easily. "Didn' speak English."

"You're kidding!" I burst out.

"Didn' matter," Hagrid says. "Dumbledore warned us tha' mighta happened. Karkus knew well enough ter yell fer a couple o' giants who knew our lingo and they translated fer us."

"And did he like the present?" Ron says.

"Oh, yeah, they went down a storm when they realised what it was," Hagrid answers, turning his steak over to press the cooler side onto his injured face. "Very pleased. So then I said, 'Albus Dumbledore asks the Gurg to speak with his messenger when he returns tomorrow with another gift.'"

"Why couldn't you speak to him that day?" Hermione asks.

"Dumbledore wanted us ter take it very slow. Let 'em see we kept our promises. We'll come back tomorrow with another present, an' then we do come back with another present - gives a good impression, see? An' gives 'em time ter test out the first present an' find it's a good one, an' get 'em eager for the next one. Anyway, giants like Karkus - overload 'em with information and they'll kill yeh just to simplify things. So we bowed outta the way an' went off ter find ourselves a nice little cave ter spend the night in, an' the followin' mornin' we went back an' we found Karkus sittin' up an' waitin' for us, lookin' all eager."

"And you talked to him?" I say.

"Oh yeah. Firs' we presented him with a nice battle helmet - goblin made an' indestructible, yeh know - an' then we sat down and we talked."

"What did he say?"

"Not much. Listened mostly. Bu' there were good signs. He'd heard o' Dumbledore, heard he'd argued against the killin' o' the last giants in Britain. Karkus seemed ter be quite interested in what Dumbledore had ter say. An' a few o' the others, especially the ones that had some English, they gathered 'round and listened, too. We were hopeful when we left that day. Promised we'd come back the next day with another present.

"Bu' tha' night it all went wrong."

"What d'you mean?" Ron says quickly.

"Well, like I said, they're not meant ter live together, giants," Hagrid says sadly. "Not in big groups like that. They can' help themselves, they kill each other every few weeks. The men fight each other an' the woman fight each other; the remnants of the ol' tribes fight each other, an' that's even without the squabbles fer food or the best fires or sleeping spots. Yeh'd think, as they're whole species is abou' ter be extinct, they'd lay off each other a bit, but..."

Hagrid sighs deeply.

"That night a fight broke out, we saw it from the mouth o' our cave, lookin' down on the valley. Went on fer hours, yeh wouldn' believe the noise. An' when the sun came up, the snow was scarlet an' his head was lyin' at the bottom o' the lake."

"Whose head?" Hermione gasps.

"Karkus'. There was a new Gurg, Golgomath," Hagrid replies heavily, giving another sigh. "Well, we hadn' bargained on another Gurg two days after we'd made friendly contact with the firs', an' we didn' think Golgomath would be keen ter listen ter us, but we had ter try."

"You went to speak with him?" Ron says in disbelief. "After you saw him rip off a giant's head?"

"Course we did, we hadn't gone all that way to give up after two days! We went down with the next present we were goin' to give to Karkus. I knew it was no good before I'd opened me mouth. He was sittin' there wearing Karkus' helmet, leerin' at us as we got nearer. He's massive, one o' the biggest ones there. Black hair an' matchin teeth an' a neckless o' bones - some o' them human lookin'. Well, I gave it a go, held out a great roll of dragon skin, an' said, 'A gift to the Gurg of the giants-' Nex' thing I knew, I was hangin' upside down by me feet - two o' his mates had grabbed me."

Hermione claps her hand over her mouth.

"How did you get out of that one?" Harry asks.

"Wouldn'ta done if Olympe hadn' bin there," Hagrid says. "She pulled out her wand an' did some of the fastest spellwork I'd ever seen. Ruddy marvellous. Hit the two holdin' me right in the eyes with a Conjunctivitis Curse an' they dropped my straightaway - bu' we were in trouble then, 'cause we had used magic against 'em, an' that's what giants hate abou' wizards. We had ter leg it and we knew there was no way we'd be able to march inter that camp again."

"Blimey, Hagrid," Ron whispers.

"How come it took you so long to get back if you were only there for three days?" Hermione asks.

"We didn' leave after three days!" Hagrid exclaims, looking outraged. "Dumbledore was countin' on us!"

"But you said there was no way you could go back!" I point out.

"Not by daylight, we couldn', no. We just had ter rethink it a bit. Spent a couple o' days lying low in a cave an' watchin'. An' what we saw wasn' good."

"Did he rip off more heads?" Hermione asks, looking squeamish.

"No. I wish he had."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean we saw that he didn't object to all wizards - just us."

"Death Eaters?" Harry says quickly.

"Yep," Hagrid confirms darkly. "Couple o' 'em were visitin' 'em ev'ry day, bringin' gifts to the Gurg, an' he wasn' hangin' 'em upside down."

"How do you know they were Death Eaters?" asks Ron.

"'Cause I recognised one of 'em," Hagrid growls. "Macnair, remember him? Bloke they sent ter kill Buckbeak? Maniac, he is. Likes killin' as much as Golgomath, no wonder they got on so well."

"So Macnair persuaded the giants to join You-Know-Who?" Hermione says desperately.

"Hold yer Hippogriffs, I haven't finished me story yet!" says an indignant Hagrid' considering the fact that he'd been reluctant to tell us anything at first, he certainly seems to be thoroughly enjoying telling us everything. "Me an' Olympe talked it over, an' we agreed that jus' because Golgomath was favourin' You-Know-Who didn' mean they all would. We had ter try an' persuade the others, the ones who hadn' wanted Golgomath as Gurg."

"How could you tell which ones they were?" says Ron.

"Well, they were the one's gettin' beaten to a pulp, weren' they?" Hagrid says patiently. "The ones with any sense kept outta Golgomath's way, hidin' out in caves roun' the gully just like we were. So we decided we'd go pokin' round in caves by night an' see if we could persuade a few o' them."

"You went poking around in dark caves looking for giants?" Ron says, awed respect clear in his voice.

"Well, it wasn' the giants that worried us most. We were more concerned abou' the Death Eaters. Dumbledore told us before we went not ter tangle with them if we could avoid it, an' the trouble was they knew we was around - 'spect Golgomath told 'em abou' us. At night, when the giants were sleepin' an' we wanted to be creepin' aroun' in caves, Macnair an' the others would be sneakin' around the mountains, lookin' fer us. I was hard put stoppin' Olympe from jumpin' out at 'em," Hagrid continues, the corners of his mouth lifting his beard, "she was rarin' ter attack 'em... she's somethin' when she's roused, Olympe... fiery, yeh know... 'spect it's the French in her..."

Hagrid gazes misty-eyed into the fire. Harry allows him thirty seconds to reminisce before clearing his throat loudly.

"So, what happened? Did you ever get to any of the giants?"

"What? Oh... oh, yeah, we did. Yeah, on the third night after Karkus was killed we crept outta the cave we'd bin hidin' in an' headed back down inter the gully, keepin' our eyes peeled fer the Death Eaters. Got inside a few o' the caves, no go - an' then in abou' the sixth one, we found three giants hidin'."

"Cave must've been cramped," Ron comments.

"Wasn't room ter swing a Kneazle," Hagrid nods.

"Didn't they attack you when they saw you?" Hermione says.

"Probably woulda done if they had been in any condition," Hagrid replies, "but they was badly hurt, all three o' them; Golgomath's lot had beaten 'em unconscious. They'd woken up an' crawled in the nearest shelter they could find. Anyway, one o' them had a bit of English an' he translated fer the others, an' what we had ter say didn' seem ter go down too badly. So we kept goin' back, visitin' the wounded... I reckon we had six or seven o' them convinced at one point."

"Six or seven?" Ron repeats eagerly. "Well, that's not bad - are they going to head over here and start fighting You-Know-Who with us?"

But I'm watching Hagrid very closely.

"What do you mean 'at one point', Hagrid?" I ask.

Hagrid looks at me sadly.

"Golgomath's lot raided the caves. The ones that survived didn' want nothin' ter do with us after that."

"So... there aren't any giants coming?" says Ron, looking disappointed.

"Nope," Hagrid answers, heaving a deep sigh and turning the steak over once more, "bu' we did what we were meant ter do, we gave 'em Dumbledore's message an' some o' them heard an' I s'spect some o' them'll remember it. Jus' maybe, them that don' want ter stay around Golgomath will move outta the mountains, an' there's gotta be a chance they'll remember Dumbledore was friendly to 'em... couple be they'll come."

Snow is quickly filling up the window now.

"Hagrid?" Hermione says quietly after a long silence.

"Mmm?"

"Did you... was there any sign of... did you hear anything about your... your... mother while you were there?"

Hagrid's uncovered eye focuses on her and Hermione looks rather scared.

"I'm sorry... I... forget it-"

"Dead," Hagrid grunts. "Died years ago. They told me."

"Oh... I'm... I'm really sorry," Hermione says in a very small voice.

Hagrid shrugs his massive shoulders.

"No need," he says shortly. "Can't remember much. Wasn' a great mother."

There's another long silence. Hermione glances nervously at Harry, Ron, and I, plainly wanting us to say something.

"You know, you still haven't explained why you go back in this state, Hagrid," I say quickly, gesturing towards his bloodstained face.

"Or why you're so late," Harry cuts in. "Sirius said Madame Maxime got back ages ago-"

"Who attacked you?" Ron asks.

"I haven't been attacked!" Hagrid insists. "I-"

But the rest of his words are drowned out by a sudden rapping at the door. Hermione gasps; her mug slips through her fingers and smashes on the floor. Fang yelps. All five of us stare at the window beside the doorway. The shadow of someone small and squat ripples through the window.

"It's her!" Ron whispers.

"Get under here!" Harry says quickly, seizing the Invisibility Cloak.

He whirls it around himself and Hermione, while Ron and I tear across the table and duck under the cloak. Huddled together, we back away into a corner. Fang barks madly at the door, and Hagrid is looking thoroughly confused throughout all of this.

"Hagrid, hide our mugs," I hiss, loudly as I dare.

Hagrid seizes Harry, Ron, and my mugs and shoves them under the cushion of Fang's basket. Fang is now leaping at the door. Hagrid pushes him aside with his foot and opens the door.

Professor Umbridge is standing in the doorway, wearing a green tweed jacked with a matching hat with earflaps, so that she looks more like a toad than ever. Lips pursed, she leans back to get a look at Hagrid's face, as she barely reaches his navel.

"So," she says slowly and loudly, as though speaking to someone who's deaf, "you're Hagrid, aren't you?"

Without waiting for an answer, she strolls into the house, her bulging eyes examining the room.

"Get away," she snaps, waving her handbag at Fang, who had bounded up to her and attempted to lick her face. In spite of my fear, I find it in myself to feel another rush of intense dislike for her.

"Er, I don't want to be rude," says Hagrid, staring at her, "but who the ruddy hell are you?"

"My name is Dolores Umbridge," she replies.

Her eyes are sweeping the cabin. Twice they pass where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I are standing, squashed together and hardly daring to breathe.

"Dolores Umbridge?" Hagrid repeats, looking very confused. "I thought you were with the Ministry - don' you work with Fudge?"

"I was Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, yes," Umbridge replies, now pacing the cabin and taking in every detail, from the haversack against the wall and the abandoned travelling cloak. "I am now the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher-"

 _If you say so,_ I think.

"That's brave of yeh," Hagrid remarks, "there's not many'd take tha' job anymore-"

"-and Hogwarts High Inquisitor," Umbridge continues, as though Hagrid hadn't spoken.

"What's that?" Hagrid asks, frowning.

"Precisely what I was going to ask," Umbridge says, pointing to the shattered remains of Hermione's mug, lying on the floor.

"Oh," Hagrid says, with a most unhelpful glance towards the corner in which we're standing, hidden, "oh, tha' was... Fang. He broke a mug. So I had ter use this one instead."

Hagrid points to the mug in which he had been drinking from, one hand still clamped to the dragon steak pressed to his eye. Umbridge stands facing him now, taking in his appearance instead of that of the cabin's.

"I heard voices," she says.

"I was talkin' ter Fang," Hagrid says stoutly.

It takes a lot to keep myself from cringing. He really had never been the best liar.

"And he was talking back to you?"

"Well... in a manner of speaking," Hagrid replies uncomfortably. "I sometimes say Fang's near enough human-"

"There are four sets of footprints from the castle door leading up to your cabin," Umbridge says swiftly.

This time, I can't stop myself from cringing. How could we have been so stupid as to forget to cover our tracks? Hermione gasps, and Harry quickly claps a hand over her mouth, looking horrified. Luckily, Fang had been sniffing loudly around the hem of Umbridge's robes and she does not appear to have heard Hermione.

"Well, I on'y just got back," Hagrid points out, with an enormous wave at his haversack. "Maybe someone came ter call earlier and I missed 'em."

"There are no footsteps leading away from your cabin door,"

"Well, I... I don' know why'd that be..." Hagrid says, tugging nervously at his beard and again glancing at our corner, as though asking for help. "Erm..."

Umbridge wheels around and strides the length of the cabin, looking around carefully, clearly checking for one thing out of the ordinary. She bends and peers under the bed. She opens Hagrid's cupboards. She passes within two inches of where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I are standing. I actually suck in my stomach and hold my breath as she passes by. Even though I'm perfect aware that it's quite impossible and it's only my nerves making me think this, I feel as though it'll only be moments until she sees us.

_Who knows, maybe toad-faced bitches could see through Invisibility Cloaks._

After looking carefully inside the enormous cauldron Hagrid uses for cooking, Umbridge wheels around and says, "What has happened to you? What have you done to sustain those injuries?"

Hagrid hastily removes the dragon steak from his face, a rather large mistake, as now the purple and black bruising on his face is perfectly visible, not to mention all the congealed and fresh blood.

"Oh, I... had a bit of an accident," he says lamely.

"What sort of accident?"

"I - I tripped,"

"You tripped," Umbridge repeats coldly.

"Yeah, tha's right. Over... over a friend's broomstick. I don' fly, meself. Well, look at the size o' me, I don' reckon there's a broomstick that'd hold me. Friend o' mine breeds Abraxan horses, I dunno if you've ever seen 'em, big beasts, winged, yeh know, I've had a bit o' ride on 'em an' it was-"

"Where have you been?" Umbridge asks, putting a stop to Hagrid's babbling.

"Where've I-?"

"Been, yes," she says. "Term started two months ago. Another teacher has had to cover your classes. None of your colleagues have been able to give me information about your whereabouts. You left no address. Where have you been?"

There's a pause in which Hagrid stares at Umbridge with his newly uncovered eye, and I can almost see Hagrid's mind working furiously.

"I've been away fer me health," Hagrid finally replies.

"For your health," Umbridge repeats, her eyes travelling over Hagrid's swollen and discoloured face, dragon blood dripping silently and gently onto his waistcoat. "I see."

"Yeah," Hagrid says, "bit o' fresh air, you know-"

"Yes, as gamekeeper, fresh air must be so hard to come by," Umbridge says sweetly.

The patch of Hagrid's face that isn't bruised flushes.

"Well - change o' scenery - yeh know-"

"Mountain scenery?" Umbridge says swiftly.

My eyes widen. How does she know? She can't know. She  _can't_ know.

"Mountains?" Hagrid repeats, clearly thinking fast. "Nope, South o' France fer me. Bit o' sun an'... an' bit o' sea."

"Really? You don't have much of a tan,"

"Yeah, well, sensitive skin," Hagrid shrugs, giving a very brave attempt at a smile, and it's then that I notice that two of his teeth have been knocked out. Umbridge regards him coldly, and Hagrid's smile falters.

"I shall, of course, be informing the Minister of your late return," Umbridge says, hoisting her handbag a little higher into the crook of her arm.

"Righ'," Hagrid says, nodding.

"You ought to know, too, that as High Inquisitor, it is my unfortunate but necessary duty to inspect my fellow teachers. So I daresay that we'll meet again soon enough."

She turns sharply and marches back to the door.

"You're inspectin' us?" Hagrid says blankly, looking after her.

"Oh, yes," Umbridge says softly, looking back at him with her hand on the door handle. "The Ministry is determined to weed out unsatisfactory teachers, Hagrid. Goodnight."

She leaves, closing the door behind her with a snap. Harry and Ron make to pull the Invisibility Cloak off of us, but Hermione and I fling our arms in front of them, stopping them.

"Wait," I breathe tensely. "She might not be gone yet."

Hagrid seems to have the same train of thought. He stumps over to the window and pulls the curtain open a bit.

"She's goin' back to the castle," he states. "Blimey... inspectin' people, is she?"

"Yeah," Harry replies, throwing the Cloak off of us. "Trelawney's on probation already..."

"Um, what kind of stuff are planning to do with us in class, Hagrid?" Hermione asks.

"Oh, don' you worry abou' that, I've got loads o' great lessons planned," Hagrid answers excitedly, scooping up his dragon steak from the table and slapping it on his face again. "I've bin keepin' a couple o' creatures saved fer yer OWL year; yeh wait, they're somethin' really special."

Hermione and I exchange anxious looks. Special in Hagrid's eyes can be seen as dangerous and worth putting Hagrid on probation - or worse - over in Umbridge's eyes.

"Erm - special in what way?" I ask tentatively.

"I'm not sayin'," Hagrid says happily. "I don' want ter spoil the surprise."

"Look, Hagrid," Hermione says urgently, dropping all pretence. "Professor Umbridge won't be happy at all if you bring in anything too dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Hagrid repeats, looking amiably bemused. "Don' be silly, I wouldn' give yeh anythin dangerous! I mean, alrigh', they can look after themselves-"

"Hagrid, you've got to pass Umbridge's inspection, and to do that it'd really be better if she saw you teaching us how to look after Porlocks, how to tell the difference between Knarls and hedgehogs, stuff like that!" Hermione says desperately.

"Bu' that's not very interestin', Hermione," Hagrid insists. "The stuff I've got is much more impressive. I've bin bringing 'em on fer years, I reckon I've got the on'y domestic herd in Britain."

"Hagrid, please, you don't understand," I say urgently. "Umbridge is trying to sack teachers she thinks are too close to Dumbledore, so please don't give her any excuse to do it. Please, just give as the dullest lessons imaginable about the dullest creatures imaginable that are bound to come up in the OWL."

"Lis'en, it's bin a long day an' it's late," Hagrid says, patting me gently on the shoulder, so that my knees give way and hit the floor with a thud. "Oh - sorry-" he pulls me back up by the neck of my robes. "Look, don' yeh go worryin' abou' me, I promise yeh I've got really good stuff planned fer yer lessons now I'm back... now you lot had better be gettin' back up ter the castle, an' don' forget ter wipe yer footprints on the way out!"

"I don't know if you two got to him," Ron points out a short while later, having checked that the coast in clear and heading back up to the castle through the thickening snow, leaving no trace due to the Obliteration Charm Hermione is performing as we go.

"Then we'll come back again tomorrow," I say simply.

"Exactly," Hermione nods. "We'll plan his lessons for him, if we've got to. I don't care if Umbridge throws out Trelawney, but she's not getting rid of Hagrid!"


	30. Firewhisky

**Ours**

**Chapter Thirty: Firewhisky**

 

When we get back to the common room, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all decide to go straight to bed.

"Coming?" Hermione asks, turning towards me, and I shake my head.

"No, you go ahead," I say. "I'll go up later. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she says, walks across the common room, and disappears through the door of the girls' dormitories.

I wave to Harry and Ron, who return the gesture before disappearing into their own dormitory. Running a hand through my hair, I look around at the deserted common room, before walking over to the armchairs by the fire, my favourite spot in the common room, even though the fire is dying out, and sit down, heaving a deep sigh as I do.

I don't know how long I sit there for, thinking over Hagrid's story and Umbridge and how Hermione and I are going to go about explaining just how awful of a woman she is to Hagrid. He needs to understand how Umbridge is going to be looking for any excuse to fire him, especially considering he's half-giant, that he needs to tone it down with the dangerous creatures, but I don't know how to convince him. Hagrid simply has a different idea of what's dangerous than other people do and is completely unaware of this fact.

After a long time of staring unseeingly into the slowly dying out flames, I hear muffled laughter. My brow furrows and I frown slightly at this. I look around, just as the sound increases, and I find that the noise is coming from the boys' dormitories. I find myself standing up, and just as I do, the door to the boys' dormitories burst open, revealing Fred and George.

They stumble into the common room, laughing at something I may never know, and moving much more slowly and clumsily than I've ever seen. I realise after a moment that they've been drinking. At precisely the same moment I come to this realisation, they seem to notice that I'm in the room.

"Hazel!" they say in unison, louder than altogether necessary.

"Fred, George," I greet, nodding at each of them in turn and holding back a smile. Fred and George are amusing enough to be around when they're sober; they're bound to be beyond entertaining when drunk. The thought of it makes it impossible for me to hold back my grin.

"How are yoouu, baaby?" Fred asks, stumbling over to me and wrapping his arms loosely around my waist, bending slightly to rest his chin on my shoulder and grin lazily up at me.

"Oi!" George says loudly. "C-can't you keep your blooody haands off of her for - for three seconds of y-your life?"

"Can," Fred replies, his grin widening as his eyes flicker over to his twin before returning to me. "Don't want to. Anyway, Geoorgue, you're being veery rude. I asked her a q- _question_ , you know."

"Oh, I'm spectacular," I reply, grinning. Considering the situation, perhaps it would've been more accurate to say I'm more or less the opposite of spectacular, but it's very difficult to stay feeling that way and admit to it when you're talking to a drunk Fred and George, "and how are you two on this fine - erm - night?"

"Oh, we're fantaastic," Fred replies, still grinning up at me.

"Completely over the moon!" George adds, stumbling over to my other side and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "And youu?"

"I already asked, idiot," Fred says loudly, looking over at his twin.

"Yeaah,  _you_ asked,  _I_ d-didnt," George insists, before turning back to me.

"I'm splendid, really," I reply, grinning up at him.

"Oi, you s-saaid 'spectacular' when I aasked youu," Fred points out, frowning at me.

"Things change, Freddie," I say patiently.

"It's only been, like, twoo seconds!" he protests.

"It only takes one second for everything to change completely," I reply very seriously, though I'm smiling.

His frown deepens for a moment, looking thoughtful. Then he nods.

"That's true. You're sooo smart," he says, a smile replacing his frown as he tightens his grip around my waist and moves closer to me.

"I b-bet I'm s-smarter," George comments.

"Yeah?" I say, looking up at him.

"Yeah,"

"What's the levitation spell?" I ask.

"Oh, that's oobvious," George insists.

I raise an eyebrow, nudging his playfully and smiling.

"Go on, then, genius," I say.

"Any idiot knows it's  _Winblardium Levasio_ ," George states, and I burst out laughing.

"You - you got it, George," I admit between laughs. "How about you cast it on that table over there, just to prove your cleverness."

"If you insiist," he says, pulls out his wand, fumbling and almost dropping it, before pointing it at the table and saying in full seriousness, " _Winblardium Levasio_!"

The table blows up, though the explosion is silent, making it very surreal to see.

I let out another laugh, before taking out my wand and saying, " _Repairo_!" The shattered remains of the table fly back into place, returning the table to its original state.

"Blooody idiot," Fred mumbles. "I bet you  _I_ coould dooo it."

When he fumbles with pulling out his own wand, I grab his wrist to stop him, grinning.

"Maybe you should save it," I suggest. "Not saying you can't do it, but no need to show off and make poor Georgie insecure."

"Liike thaat stupid praat could make mee insecure," George shakes his head.

"Quick question," I burst out, unable to help it. "Have you lot been drinking?"

"We miight've had a b-bottle of Firewhiskey," Fred replies.

"Ooor twoo," George says.

"Or moore," Fred says.

"Lee had some, tooo," George adds.

"And where's Lee?" I ask, grinning.

"Upstaairs," Fred replies. "Didn't wanna join uss."

"Said something about not waanting to get caught," George interjects. "Ninny."

"Well, how about you get back up with Lee, yeah?"

"Wanna stay with youuu," Fred says, a slightly whiny tone to his voice.

"You're a n-ninny, too," George comments. "I'm the ooonly one who isn't a ninny."

"Well, I'll go with you, then," I say. "Come on, then,"

I wrap an arm around each of them and begin guiding them across the common room and to the boys' dormitories. They stumble even more than I do, a feat they could only manage when drunk, and I laugh uncontrollably every time they trip, because it's not often that I'm the most graceful person in the room.

"You're bloody lucky Hermione went to bed, you know," I comment, as we reach the door to the boys' dormitories.

"What would Heermione have done?" George says, as he opens the door to the boys' dormitories with the arm that isn't still around my shoulders.

"I think it'd be better to say what she wouldn't do, honestly," I reply, as we begin to walk up the spiraling staircase.

"Haaazel," Fred says, "you are the most amazing - prettiest - best bloody persooon..."

"Mmm, thanks, Fred," I say, a grin threatening to cross my face.

"I mean it," he insists seriously.

"I'm sure you do," I say patiently, nodding.

When we reach the top of the stairs, I lead the way down the corridor, looking for the door labelled 'Seventh Years', repeatedly reminding them to keep their voices down.

"Let's see..." I say, "fifth years... sixth years... seventh years!"

I retract my arm from George's back and open the door, finding Lee laying on his bed, taking a long swig from a bottle of Firewhiskey. He's considerably less drunk than Fred and George, but he's certainly not sober.

"Knight," he says, nodding at me.

"Jordan," I say, returning the gesture.

"How about thoose two, huh?" he grins, gesturing in our general direction with the hand holding the Firewhiskey. "The T-Troublesome Two turned druunk. I don't know if I prefer them drunk or sober, do youu?"

"It's certainly a tough decision," I reply, smiling slightly. "Did you put one of those love potions you lot are working on in Fred's drink, because he's much more lovey-dovey than usual."

"Nooope, if we put one of  _thooose_ love potions in there, you wouldn't have to ask," Lee replies. "I reckon he's just being muuuch more open about how in loove with you he is."

"Shut it," I say, looking away from him and smiling, blushing a bit in spite of myself.

George breaks away from me, stumbling over to Lee, holding out his arm.

"Gimme that," he says, gesturing towards the bottle.

"Don't you reckon they've had enough?" I ask, a little severely, as Lee obliges and George takes a long swig.

"Oh, don't teell me you're going to the dark side, Kniight," Lee says.

"The dark side?" I repeat disbelievingly.

"The side of nooo-fun laaw abiders," he elaborates. "Doon't tell me those prefect friends of yours have got to you,"

"I think we all know they haven't," I say.

"Then relaax, it's fine," Lee insists. "Here, have a bit for yourself."

He takes the bottle back from George and holds it out for me. I hesitate for a moment, before shrugging, detaching myself rather reluctantly from Fred, and walking forward. I take the bottle from him and drink from it. The Firewhiskey causes a burning sensation as it goes down my throat, but it's an undeniably pleasant sensation all the same.

"See?" Isn't thaat better?" Lee asks, grinning up at me.

"Suppose so," I shrug.

"I told you, Lee J-Joordan knows beest," Lee insists. "Now, give that baack."

I hold out the bottle for him and takes it, taking another long swig from it. After he's finished, Fred suddenly appears by his bed, holding out his hand. Lee gives him the bottle and he drinks deeply. George takes the bottle from him after he finishes, and Fred stumbles over to me, wrapping his arms loosely around my waist again and grinning down at me.

"Have I ever told yoou that you have the preettiest eyes in the wooorld?" he says. "And the preettiest - er - everything else?"

"No, actually," I reply, smiling.

"Oh," Fred says, looking stumped. "Well, you do."

"You always know just what to say, don't you?" I say, stifling a laugh as I kiss him quickly, and he looks pleased.

"Kiss me for longer," he grumbles, a whiny tone to his voice, and I laugh.

"Who knew you liked kissing me this much?" I say.

"I did," Fred replies, "and you reaaally should, tooo."

"I'll keep that in mind," I nod, grinning.

It continues on in this vein, as the three of them do a variety of ridiculous things that I'm grateful to be witnessing and sober to witness it, so I don't forget it, including Fred giving a very poor attempt at Irish dancing, George singing  _This is the Night_ by the Weird Sisters, and Lee insisting that he can go gymnastics and proving it by attempting to do a cartwheel, but then falling flat on his face. Occasionally I'll have a bit of Firewhiskey myself, but not nearly as much as them. Fred continues to give compliments to me that I don't think he would had he been sober, and one time I'm quite certain he came close to telling me he loves me, until Lee and George started singing Christmas carols. I'm grateful for the interruption, as Fred saying things like that when I know he doesn't mean them upsets me, perhaps more than it should.

After a while of this, I decide to stop them, since they'll wake the whole house if they don't stop (and, admittedly, I don't want an 'I love you' from Fred that he doesn't mean sticking with me). I put Lee to bed first, ignoring his protesting and making sure he sleeps on his side. I do the same to George, who protests much more than Lee does.

"I don't waanna sleep!" he insists.

"Yes, you do, Georgie," I say matter-of-factly, guiding him onto his four-poster.

"I don't - don't want to-" he says, but stops talking abruptly, because he's out like a light the moment his head hits the pillow.

I laugh, turning him on his side as well, before moving over to Fred.

"You are sooo wonderful," he insists, pulling me closer to him.

"You're not too bad yourself," I say simply, taking his hand and leading him across the dormitory to his four-poster.

"Mmm, you're the beeest girlfriend in the uuniveerse," he informs me.

"Not the universe," I say, turning to look at him and grinning, "the world, yes, but not the whole  _universe_. There are probably some wicked intergalactic alien girlfriends out there."

"I bet you're better than aaall of them," Fred says.

"You're too kind," I state, as we reach his bed.

I pull the curtains around his four-poster away, and guide him gently onto the bed. What I did no expect was for him to grab onto my hand and pull me down with him.

"Really, Fred?" I say in exasperation, though I'm smiling.

"Wannna be with yoou," he replies.

"You need to sleep," I insist.

"Weell, sleep with me, then," Fred says.

I turn bright pink. Even though by the look on his face, it's unlikely he's talking about sex, I take a moment to be grateful that the other two are asleep, because a sentence like that can easily be twisted around, especially to those who are drunk. He throws an arm around me, grinning.

"Seee? This is alright," he remarks.

"Never said it wasn't," I mumble, because this is something I don't mind at all, except for the fact that this probably would not be happening if he wasn't drunk.

"Then w-what's the prooblem?" he inquires.

"The problem is that you're drunk," I sigh, "and you probably don't mean a lot of what you're saying."

"I'm - I'm not that d-druunk," Fred protests.

"I beg to differ," I state. "Oh this is useless - goodnight, Fred."

He starts to protests, but I shake my head and kiss him just long enough to forget what he was about to say, before getting to my feet, brushing off my robes, though there's nothing to brush off. I make sure he's lying on his side, offering him one last wave and weak smile, before turning around and walking out of the dormitory as fast as possible without looking like I actually want to leave.

I rush over to the girls' dormitories, glad to find that Hermione is fast asleep. I change quickly and crawl into bed, closing the curtains around me. I think about Hagrid and Umbridge and Fred and the incredible effects of Firewhiskey until I manage to fall asleep.

 

***

 

The next morning, I wake up with the events of the previous night still fresh in my mind, but shake it off and act normal when Hermione greets me. Really, why shouldn't I be acting normal? There isn't much of a reason why Fred's behavior should bother me. After all, he was drunk out of his mind.

But that was the problem. Something about Fred complimenting me so often and nearly saying that he bloody loves me when it's obvious that he doesn't mean distresses me more than it should. Regardless, I shake the feelings off as best as possible, but still pray that I won't see Fred for a while.

After breakfast, Hermione and I plough through two feet of snow to get to Hagrid's cabin. Harry and Ron wanted to go with us, but the mountain of homework that they have has reached an alarming rate again, so they head back up to the common room instead.

When we reach Hagrid's cabin and I knock on the door, there's no reply, except for the sound of Fang's loud barking.

"Hagrid?" I say loudly, knocking on the door. "Hagrid, are you in there?"

Again, there's no reply.

"You reckon he's out?" I say, as Hermione knocks on the door sharply.

"He might be," she replies, frowning slightly. "He might be ignoring us, though. Remember how he did that last year?"

"Yeah, but that was different," I point out. "Last year he thought everyone hated him because he's half-giant. What reason has he got to ignore us now?"

She just shakes her head slightly, frowning. We continue knocking on his door for at least half an hour longer, calling out to Fang occasionally in attempt to get him to calm down. In the last ten minutes, losing my patience, I start hammering on the door and nearly yelling for Hagrid, but stop when Fang gets more rowdy than ever.

"Look, Hazel, there he is!" Hermione says, nodding over my shoulder. I turn around and find Hagrid emerging from the Forbidden Forest, his great moleskin overcoat covered in snow.

"Oh, what was he doing in the Forest?" I groan, as we watch as he approaches, though I already have an idea; the Forbidden Forest is home to plenty of creatures that are likely to get Hagrid the sack, should he choose to teach them in his lessons - which, knowing Hagrid, he probably will.

"You don't think he's going to get one of the creatures from in there for his lessons?" Hermione whispers miserably, looking as though that's exactly what she's thinking.

"Well, it wouldn't exactly be unlike Hagrid, would it?" I reply, and as he draws near enough to us, call, "Hello, Hagrid!"

"Back already, yeh two, are yeh?" he says, though he's smiling at us.

"Yes, we are," Hermione says briskly, "we wanted to talk to you about the Care of Magical Creatures lessons, Hagrid."

"And about Umbridge," I add, and Hermione nods.

"Not still on abou' tha', are yeh?" Hagrid says, now frowning slightly.

"You don't understand, Hagrid," I insist earnestly, as he opens the door and we enter his cabin. "Umbridge - Umbridge is the most vile, evil, foul woman, and she's looking for any reason to sack teachers close to Dumbledore. It seems like she's already onto you, especially with your late return, all she needs is any excuse - any creature that's a touch too dangerous, and she'll get rid of you. She's already got Trelawney on probation."

"I told yeh, none o' the creatures are dangerous," Hagrid insists, as he goes to make us another cup of tea in his bucket-sized mugs. "They can look after themselves, tha's all."

"We know that, but Umbridge doesn't exactly see it like that," says Hermione. "Hagrid, we're not learning any Defense from her. All we do is read this book called  _Defensive Magical Theory_ , and it's the absolute most useless thing I've ever read, especially in terms of learning how to defend yourself. We're learning absolutely no defensive magic from her, all because the Ministry thinks Dumbledore is going to form an army with the students. She's got a very different idea, a much more strict idea of what's dangerous and what isn't than you have, Hagrid."

"Exactly," I say, nodding, as Hagrid puts a mug of tea in front of each of us before settling down across from us with his own mug," and on top of that, she's cruel, she's almost medieval with her punishments, she's prejudiced, and with this stupid High Inquisitor position she's got now, she's got the power to sack any teacher she wants, so you can't give her any reason. Please, Hagrid, just teach us about the dullest, safest creature you can get your hands on."

Hagrid, it seems, is not listening to a single word we're saying.

"Yeh two are worryin' too much," he says, waving a massive hand idly. "I've got some really good lessons planned fer yeh lot now tha' I'm back, I'm tellin' yeh, it'll be fine."

"What kind of really good lessons, Hagrid?" I ask anxiously. "Are they what you were in the Forbidden Forest for?"

"Yeh'll find out tomorrow, I reckon," he replies mysteriously, his beetle black eyes twinkling.

At this point, Hermione and I are beyond desperate.

"Hagrid," Hermione says desperately, "Hagrid, please, please just follow the plan Grubbly-Plank had. You know, study Porlocks and Kneazles, make sure we recognize Crups and Knarls, stuff like that! That's the kind of stuff Umbridge will like, and you need to pass her inspection."

"But tha's not very interestin'," Hagrid insists. "Nobody in their righ' mind would rather study Knarls than Chimaeras, Hermione."

At this, Hermione and I exchange terrified looks. Has Hagrid actually managed to get his hands on a Chimaera for his lessons?

 _Forget waiting ten days for the result of his inspection,_ I think miserably,  _he'll be sacked within ten seconds._

"Hagrid," I begin nervously, "Hagrid, have you actually got-"

"Oh, no, no, 'course not," Hagrid says dismissively, waving a massive hand around absently again. "Damn near impossible ter get, Chimaera eggs."

I feel a rush of relief, but it's mingled with worry. The only reason we won't be learning about Chimaeras is because Hagrid hasn't managed to get his hands on one. If he managed to find one, however... I shake the thought off, because at the moment, it's not the biggest concern.

"Well, what have you got, then, if it isn't a Chimaera?" I ask.

"I told yeh, it's a surprise," Hagrid says. "Yeh'll see tomorrow, and I reckon everyone'll like it."

"But what you need to focus on is whether Umbridge will like it, because she has to like it, and the only way to please her is to make sure you teach us about really boring creatures," Hermione says.

"I'm tellin' yeh, what I've got is much more interestin' than Crups an' Knarls," Hagrid states.

"It's not supposed to be interesting, Hagrid, it's supposed to pass Umbridge's inspection!" I say desperately.

"An' it will," Hagrid says firmly. "It'll be fine, I'm tellin' yeh."

It goes on like this for the rest of the visit. Hermione and I continue to ask what he has planned for the lessons, but each time he replies with nothing but the fact that it's a surprise. We repeatedly advise him to just follow Grubbly-Plank's plan, as that has Umbridge's full approval, but he insists that what he's got in mind is much more interesting than Kneazles and Bowtruckles. We try to explain about how awful Umbridge is, but he doesn't quite seem to get it. We also ask how he got those injuries, but he avoids the question. The entire time, I get the distinct impression that he's just not listening to what Hermione and I are saying.

We finally give up just before lunch. We bid him goodbye, before trudging back through the snow and the biting cold, feeling disgruntled and worried. It's a relief to reach the warmth of the castle, and even more so the warmth of the crackling fire of the common room, but the relief is stifled by worry for Hagrid and frustration at his refusal to listen.

"So?" Ron says, looking up at us when we enter the common room, shivering slightly and robes damp to our knees. "Got his lessons all planned out for him?"

"Well, we tried," Hermione says dully, sinking into chairs across from them. She pulls out her wand and gives a complicated little wave so that hot air steams from the tip; she points it at her robes, which begin to steam as they dry out. I watch her perform the action, before following suit with my own robes. "He wasn't even there when we arrived, we were knocking for at least half an hour. And then he came stumping out of the Forest-"

Harry groans.

"What's he got in there? Did he say?"

"No," I answer miserably. "We asked, obviously, but he just kept saying he wanted it to be a surprise. I don't know how many times we tried to explain to him about Umbridge, to just get him to follow Grubbly-Plank's plan, but he just doesn't get it. He said nobody in their right mind would rather study Knarls than Chimaeras - oh, but he hasn't actually got a Chimaera," I add quickly, noticing the appalled look on Harry and Ron's faces, "but that's not because he didn't try. The eggs are supposed to be really hard to find, that's why. We kept telling him that he needed to pass Umbridge's inspections and that he ought to just go with really dull, safe creatures that are bound to be in the OWL, but, you know, I reckon he just wan't listening to us at all. He's in a funny kind of mood, you know, and he still won't tell us how he got all those injuries."

Throughout the rest of the day, I'm so busy being worried about Hagrid that I forget all about the fact that I'm avoiding Fred, George, and Lee (mostly the former), and when I run into them on the way back from dinner, along with the feeling of mortification, I also feel as though I must've been really lucky to have not seen them at all until now.

"Hey!" I greet cheerfully, hoping I look casual. "What's up? How's that hangover treating you?"

They grin.

"Better now, but it was a real bitch before," Lee replies. "Still don't like anything that makes  _too_ much noise, though."

"Why are you handing out with them, then?" I ask, grinning and nodding at Fred and George.

Lee laughs, and even Fred and George let out chuckles, though they both tell me to shut up.

"They've been uncharacteristically quiet today," Lee says, shrugging.

"Ah," I say, nodding in understanding, "so you mean hungover as fuck, as well?"

"Basically, yes," George confirms.

"You know, I don't even remember a lot of it," Fred comments.

"Oh, really?" I raise an eyebrow. "Well, as the only person who was sober there, it's really my  _duty_ to tell you every last detail, isn't it?"

Ignoring their groans, I launch into a recount of all they had done the previous night, laughing along with them at some points and grinning at their groans at other parts. By the time I'm finished, their expressions are both embarrassed and amused.

"The only thing that doesn't surprise me is Fred's constant declarations of love," Lee says teasingly, elbowing Fred.

I look away suddenly, blushing and playing with my hair awkwardly. I had spoken about Fred's endless compliments very briefly while speaking very quickly, wanting to get it over with, and I think they might have caught on to the fact that I was uncomfortable.

"Shut it," Fred says, punching him lightly but still grinning.

We enter the common room, which is mostly empty since almost everyone is at dinner. We all sit by the fire, where we talk and laugh until George and Lee both get up, saying they each have a detention.

"Can you believe my luck? I have Filch," George says, groaning. "This git's only got Flitwick. I'm going to be there for the rest of the night cleaning half the castle, while Lee's only going to have a nice little chat with Flitwick then get out early."

He jerks his head in the direction of Lee, who grins.

"Flitwick likes having me," he shrugs. "Don't be mad because he doesn't like you."

"Don't be a pray, you know he likes me more," George argues.

"Whatever makes you feel better," Lee sings.

They argue all the way out of the common room. Fred and I watch them, grinning, until they scramble through the portrait hole and disappear. Once they're gone, I shift uncomfortably in my seat; the entire reason I had been avoiding George and Lee (though I had forgotten I was doing it) was so I wouldn't have to face Fred, and, just my luck, with George and Lee gone to detention, I now have to be alone with Fred.

"Why haven't you got a detention?" I burst out.

"What, don't like having me around?" Fred says, winking.

I let out a laugh and shake my head, hoping it's not evident that that's not exactly it.

"Just wondering," I shrug.

Fred watches me closely for a moment, before saying, "I've already served my time."

"I see," is all I say.

I look down at my lap and start playing with my hands, feeling Fred's gaze burning holes in my skull and wishing wholeheartedly that he'd look away. I'm just about to start thinking of excuses to leave when he speaks.

"Erm - about what I said last night-" he begins.

"Don't worry about it," I say, shaking my head and looking up at him grudgingly, "it's fine. You were drunk, it doesn't matter."

"Well," he says, frowning a bit, "I'd say it matters, you seemed pretty upset about it."

So, they did notice, or, at least, Fred did.

"Why would I be upset?" I say, grinning and trying to act as though the idea of it is ridiculous. "It was all pretty funny, actually."

"Dunno, that's what I was going to get at with this," Fred replies.

"Look," I say, "it didn't bother me. You were drunk, you didn't mean any of it, why would it bother me?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I didn't mean  _any_ of it," Fred states.

I freeze.

"Wait, what?" I say, now utterly confused. "What d'you mean? You wouldn't have said any of that stuff sober!"

"I wouldn't say that, and even if it is true," Fred says, "just because I wouldn't say it sober doesn't mean it's not true."

"Do I have to remind you of what you said?" I demand, thinking particularly of when he almost said he loved me.

"No, you don't," Fred answers quietly, "I reckon I won't be forgetting that any time soon."

"So, how could you - what do you mean - I mean, I think it's pretty obvious where we stand, and the stuff you said isn't exactly it," I manage to splutter out.

"It might be," he points out.

"But it's not," I say shortly, and I'm not sure why I'm getting so angry.

"Why not?"

He must be doing this on purpose.

"Because," I burst out, "because you're you and I'm me, and you - we're - look, I know you didn't mean it, so let's just forget it."

"Why does it matter so much?" he asks.

"It doesn't matter! Haven't you been listening?" I say in exasperation.

"Then why are you getting mad?"

"I'm not getting mad!" I exclaim, but then realize that sounded angry.

Fred stares at me for several moments, an odd expression on his face, before looking away from me, shaking his head and laughing.

"You're mental, Knight, d'you know that?" he remarks, still chuckling and leaning back in his chair to look up at the ceiling.

"Am not," I protest, crossing my arms and frowning.

"I didn't mean it as an insult," Fred states, and from looking at him, I can tell that he's being serious. Either way, it doesn't do much to cheer me up.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time you said something as not an insult," I grumble.

He raises an eyebrow.

"So, you  _are_ upset about it?" he asks.

"I've already told you-" I begin impatiently.

"And it wasn't true," he interrupts, "so, go on, then, why are you mad about it?"

I'm silent for several moments.

"Because - because I know you didn't bloody mean it and I don't want you saying things like that when I know it isn't true, and it's probably just some joke to you, but not to me-"

"It's not like that!" Fred protests.

"Well, it certainly seems like it," I say hotly. "You wouldn't have said any of that in any other situation-"

"Well, if you're so convinced of it, why does it matter?" he snaps.

"I've already told you," I say in exasperation, leaping to my feet. "It  _doesn't_ matter, and that's the problem!"

"What the hell does that mean?" Fred demands, getting to his feet as well.

"It means that you're not - were not - it's not actually - oh, just forget it!" I say, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

I turn on my heel, and flounce over to the girls' dormitory, wondering how I had managed to get this angry and already regretting it.

"For Merlin's sake, forget what?" Fred calls after me, sounding thoroughly confused and very angry, but I ignore him, flinging the door to the girls' dormitory open, throwing myself inside it, and slamming it behind me.

Once in my dormitory, I slam the door closed and fling myself on my bed, fuming as I stare up at the crimson canvas of my four-poster. As I start to calm down, however, I start to think over the argument more carefully and regret my outburst. Perhaps I shouldn't have taken my anger out on him like that.

And, for another thing, where  _did_ that anger come from? Really, it shouldn't have angered me that much. I think it over carefully for what could be hours, until I finally come up with an answer.

The idea of Fred saying things that he doesn't mean, that he'll probably never really mean, will stick in my head and haunt me in the worst of ways. The idea of him talking to me and telling me that he doesn't really think that of me, that sort of rejection, is something that I really don't want to put up with, and perhaps to hide that fear or perhaps to make coping with it easier, I got angry. Regardless of why I did it, I know that it won't be long until I regret it completely.

Not too long after coming to this realization, Hermione comes into the dormitory.

"Hazel? Are you alright?" she asks, and I turn my head to find her looking at me carefully.

"That's debatable,"

"What happened?" she asks.

I dive into a recount of the events from last night, and the scene in the common room earlier. I had talked about how they were drunk as best as I could without actually saying they were drunk or making it obvious that they were, but Hermione seems to have caught on, something that's not altogether surprising, considering it's Hermione. I think that she's going to be furious that they had smuggled Firewhiskey into the castle, but it seems to be the last thing on Hermione's mind at the moment.

"Oh, Hazel," Hermione sighs slightly, "I understand how you're feeling, but are you sure-"

"I know I shouldn't have snapped at him like that, Hermione," I say tiredly, "I don't know what came over me."

But that, of course, is a lie.

"I think I do," Hermione says.

"What d'you reckon, then?" I ask, an almost challenging tone in my voice.

"I'm not going to say, because I think you know, too," Hermione replies.

I look around at her in shock. How is it that she knows  _everything_?

"I might, kind of have an idea," I admit sheepishly, and she smiles.

"So, what are you going to do?" she asks.

"I don't know," I reply, sighing. "Apologize, I suppose. Explain myself a bit. I owe him that much, don't I?"

If only actually doing it was as easy as how I'm making it sound. Hermione nods.

"It'll be fine," she says consolingly. "It'll be back to normal before you know it."

I nod as she moves away, pretending to be reassured, but I have the feeling that 'before I know it' is about to turn into a long time.

 

***

 

**Third Person in Fred's Perspective**

 

Several minutes after the door had slammed, Fred still stood where he was, staring after the door of the girls' dormitories without a clue as to what had just happened. All he really knew was that Hazel was angry at him. This was nothing altogether new, but it still got upsetting and, admittedly, annoying. Especially when Fred didn't have a single bloody clue as to what he had done.

He collapsed back onto his chair, sighing, and thought the argument was over. Clearly, he decided after a while, that what he had said the previous night had upset her, in spite of what she had said moments ago, because she was convinced that he didn't mean any of it - which wasn't true. Sure, some of the more extreme things hadn't been true, but for the most part, he had meant it. That much was clear, but what wasn't clear was why she had got so angry about it.

The more he thought about it, the angrier  _he_ got. What had he done wrong? He had been drunk, for Merlin's sake, of course he was going to say ridiculous things. Even if he had done something wrong, he had tried to talk about it. Really, what else was he supposed to have done? He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and gazing into the fire in an extremely surly way.

Soon, he let out a noise of frustration and just went upstairs to his dormitory, wishing he was drunk now as opposed to the previous night. He collapsed onto his bed, scowling up at the scarlet canvas of his four-poster and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do  _now_. He was  _not_ going to apologize, that was for sure. As far as he was concerned, he hadn't done much wrong, so why should he act like he did?

After deciding on this, the door opened and in came Lee.

"Hey," Fred greeted dully, "how was detention?"

"Good," Lee chirped. "Flitwick had me sorting some shelves. I finished early and he let me out, you know how he is, he loves us, he just won't admit it."

Lee turned to look at Fred, seemed to notice how troubled Fred was, and frowned.

"Everything alright?" Lee asked.

Fred let out a little noise that could easily be interpreted as a 'no'.

"What happened?"

"Hazel," Fred replied, now letting out a frustrated noise. He launched into recount of the events that had happened in the common room, and just as he had finished, George burst into the room, looking thoroughly annoyed.

"That slimy fucking git, honestly," he said angrily. "Who knew your hands could actually burn from cleaning?"

He looked around the room, at Fred's angry expression and Lee's sympathetic one, and his own expression became curious.

"Everything alright?" George asked, repeating Lee's previous question, so, for the second time, Fred explained what had happened between he and Hazel in the common room.

"... and, I mean, honestly, I don't know what she wants me to do," Fred said angrily, after finishing his second recount of the story, "I bloody tried, didn't I, and what did that do?"

"I know, mate, she was bang out of order," George said consolingly.

"Why didn't she just bloody explain why it bothered her so much?" Fred continued.

"She should've," Lee agreed sympathetically.

"I mean, what am I even supposed to do now?"

"You shouldn't have to do anything," Lee insisted. "For once, it wasn't you who was stupid."

Fred was silent for several moments.

"Girls are impossible," he finally said.

George and Lee exchanged looks, grinning.

"We know," they said in unison.


	31. Thestrals

**Ours**

**Chapter Thirty-One: Thestrals**

 

The reaction to Hagrid's reappearance at the staff table isn't greeted with enthusiasm by all the students. Some, like Fred, George, and Lee, roar with the delight and sprint up the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables to wring his enormous hands (I would've been more happy to see this if I wasn't upset about what had happened with Fred); others, like Lavender and Parvati, simply exchange gloomy looks and shake their heads. I know that many of them prefer Grubbly-Plank's lessons to Hagrid's, something that angers me greatly, especially since the part of me that isn't biased knows that they have very good reason to prefer Grubbly-Plank. After all, her idea of an interesting lesson never includes a risk of serious injury.

It's with a certain amount of apprehension that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I head down to Hagrid's cabin in Tuesday, heavily muffled against the cold. I'm not only worried about what kind of lesson Hagrid has planned for us, bit how the other students, particularly Malfoy and the others, are going to behave with Umbridge around to inspect him.

However, the High Inquisitor is nowhere to be seen as we struggle through the snow towards Hagrid, who is waiting for us at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He isn't a very reassuring sight; his bruises are now tinged with yellow and green and some of his cuts still seem to be bleeding. As though to complete the ominous picture, Hagrid is carrying what looks to be half of a dead cow over his shoulder.

"We're workin' in here today!" Hagrid calls happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back in the direction of the Forest. "Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark."

"What prefers the dark?" I can hear Malfoy's sharp voice asked Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. "What did he say prefers the dark - did you hear?"

I remember the other occasion in which Malfoy had entered the Forbidden Forest; he hadn't been very brave then, either. I smile at the thought. After the events that had occurred after the Quidditch match, anything that causes Malfoy discomfort is quite alright with me.

"Ready?" Hagrid asks cheerfully, looking around the class. "Right, well, I've bin savin' a trip inter the forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin' today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train 'em."

"And you're sure you've trained them, are you?" says Malfoy, the panic in his voice now perfectly clear. "Only it wouldn't be the first time you've brought wild stuff to the class, would it?"

The Slytherins murmur in agreement, and several Gryffindors look as though they think Malfoy has a good point, as well. I roll my eyes at him, but admit grudgingly to myself that he isn't  _wrong_.

"'Course they're trained," Hagrid says, scowling and hoisting the cow higher over his shoulder.

"So what happened to your face, then?" Malfoy asks.

"Mind yer own business," Hagrid says angrily. "Now, if yeh're finished askin' stupid questions, follow me!"

He turns and strides straight into the Forest. Nobody seems very keen to follow him. Harry glances at Ron, Hermione, and I. We let out sighs but nod, and the four of us set off into the Forest after Hagrid, leading the rest of the class.

We walk for about ten minutes until we reach a place where the trees are so close together that it's as dark as twilight and there is no snow on the ground at all. With a grunt, Hagrid deposits his cow on the ground, steps back, and turns to face the class, most of whom are creeping from tree to tree towards him, looking around nervously as though expecting to be jumped upon at any moment.

"Gather roun', gather roun'," Hagrid says encouragingly. "Now, they'll be attracted ter the smell o' the meat, but I'm going ter give 'em a call anyway, 'cause they like ter know it's me."

He turns, shakes his shaggy head to get the hair out of his face, and gives an odd, shrieking cry that shakes through the trees like the call of some monstrous bird. Nobody laughs: everyone seems too scared to make a sound.

Hagrid gives the shrieking cry again. A minute passes in which the students continue to peer nervously over their shoulders and around the trees for a first glimpse at whatever is coming. Then, when Hagrid shakes his hair back for the third time and expands his chest, I finally see it. I nudge Hermione and point between the blank space between two gnarled yew trees.

A pair of blank, white, shining eyes are growing larger through the gloom and a moment later, the dragonish face, neck, and skeletal body of a great, black, winged horse emerges from the darkness. It surveys the class for several moments, its long black tail swishing, then bows its head and begins to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs.

A great wave of relief breaks over me, my face lighting up. Here, at last, after over four years, is proof that these creatures really do exist and that I'm not going insane. After all, Hagrid could hardly teach about a creature if it's nothing but a hallucination had by Harry, Luna Lovegood, and I.

"Look at that, Harry, we're not mental after all," I whisper excitedly to Harry, before looking eagerly back at Hermione, but she looks as lost and nervously expectant as ever.

"Why doesn't Hagrid call again?" Ron whispers.

I look round at him, then at the rest of the class, and find them all gazing everywhere but the horse right in front of them, looking just as confused as Hermione and Ron. I realize that there seems to only be two other people who can see the horse besides Harry and I: a stringy-looking Slytherin standing just behind Goyle, who's watching the horse eat with an expression of great disgust on his face; and Neville, whose eyes are following the swishing process of the horse's long black tail.

"Oh, an' here comes another one!" Hagrid says proudly, as a second black horse emerges from the trees, folding its leathery wings closer to its body and joining the first horse in eating the meat. "Now... put yer hands up, who can see 'em?"

Feeling immensely pleased that, even if there still seems to be very few people who can see the horses, I'll finally be able to understand the mystery of these horses, I raise my hand, along with Harry, Neville, and the Slytherin.

"Yeah... yeah, I knew yeh two'd be able ter, Harry, Hazel," Hagrid says seriously. "An' yeh, too Neville, eh? An'-"

"Excuse me," Malfoy interrupts in a sneering voice, "but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?"

Hagrid points at the cow carcass on the ground in reply. The whole class stares at it for a few seconds, then several people gasp and Parvati lets out a squeal. I can understand why. As they all seem to be unable to see the horses, what they're witnessing instead is just pieces of meat stripping themselves away from the bones and vanishing into thin air.

"What's doing it?" Parvati demands in a terrified voice, retreating behind the nearest tree. "What's eating it?"

"Thestrals," Hagrid replies proudly, and Hermione gives a soft "Oh!" of comprehension ( _now she knows,_ I think, but find it hard to feel too resentful in my relief) "Hogwarts has got a whole herd of 'em here. Now, who knows-?"

"But they're really, really unlucky!" Parvati cuts in, looking alarmed. "They're supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who can see them. Professor Trelawney once told me-"

"No, no, no," Hagrid says, chuckling, "tha's just superstition, tha' is, they're no unlucky, they're dead clever an' useful! Course, this lot don' get a lot o' word, it's mainly jus' pullin' the school carriages unless Dumbledore's takin' a long journey an' don' wanna Apparate - an here's another couple, look-"

Two more horses come quietly out of the trees, once of them passing very close to Parvati, who shivers and presses herself closer to the tree, saying, "I think I felt something, I think it's near me!"

"Don' worry, it won' hurt yeh," Hagrid says patiently. "Righ', now, who can tell me why some o' yeh can see 'em an' some can't?"

Hermione raises her hand.

"Go on, then," Hagrid says, beaming at her.

"The only people who can see Thestrals," she says, "are people who have seen death."

My smile fades slightly. Then I put it back on my face, relieved, because at least now I know. Besides, it's not like it's anything new to me that I witnessed my parents' death. After all, did I not have to relive it frequently in my dreams - my nightmares?

"That's exactly right," Hagrid says solemnly, nodding, "ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, Thestrals-"

"Hem, hem."

Professor Umbridge has arrived. She's standing a few feet away from Harry, wearing her green hat and cloak again, her clipboard in hand as always. Hagrid, who is lucky enough to have never heard her throat-clearing cough until now, gazes at the closest Thestral in concern, evidently under the impression that it had made the noise.

"Hem, hem," she repeats.

"Oh, hello," Hagrid smiles, having at last located the source of the noise.

"You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?" asks Umbridge, using that same loud, slow voice again, as though speaking to someone deaf. "Telling you I would be inspecting your lesson?"

"Oh, yeah," Hagrid answers brightly. "Glad yeh found the place alrigh'! Well, as you can see - or, I dunno, can you? - we're doin' Thestrals today-"

"I'm sorry," Umbridge says loudly, cupping her hand around her ear and frowning, "what did you say?"

Hagrid looks a little confused. I however, feel furious - and it hasn't even been five minutes.

"Er - Thestrals!" Hagrid repeats. "Big - er - winged horses, yeh know!"

He flaps his gigantic arms hopefully. Umbridge raises her eyebrows at him and mutters under her breath as she makes a note on her clipboard: "Has... to... resort... to... crude... sign... language."

"Well, anyway," Hagrid says, turning back to the class and looking slightly flustered, "erm... what was I sayin'?"

"Appears... to... have... short... term... memory," Umbridge mutters, loudly enough for everybody to hear.

Malfoy looks as though Christmas has come early. Hermione, on the other hand, has turned scarlet with suppressed rage, and I look at Umbridge in furious disbelief.

"Oh, yeah," Hagrid says, casting Umbridge's clipboard an uneasy glance, but plouging on valiantly. "Yeah, I was going to tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so we started off with a male an' five females. This one," he pats the horse who appeared first, "name o' Tenebrus, he's my special favourite, firs' one born here in the Forest-"

"Are you aware," Umbridge interrupts loudly, "that the Ministry of Magic has classified Thestrals as 'dangerous'?"

My heart sinks straight through to my stomach, but Hagrid merely chuckles.

"Thestrals aren' dangerous! Alrigh', they might take a bite outta yeh if yeh really annoy 'em-"

"Shows... signs... of... pleasure... at... the... idea... of... violence," Umbridge mutters, scribbling on her clipboard again.

"No - come on!" Hagrid says, looking a little anxious now. "I mean, a dog'll bite yeh if you bait it, won' it - but Thestrals jus' have a bad reputation 'cause of the death thing - people used ter think they were bad omens, didn' they? Jus' didn' understand, did they?"

Umbridge doesn't answer; instead, she finishes writing the note, looks up at Hagrid, and says very loudly and slowly again, "Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to walk," she mimics walking, and I notice Malfoy and Parkinson shaking with silent fits of laughter, "among the students," she points at several members of the class, "and ask them questions," she points to her mouth to indicate talking.

Hagrid stares at her, evidently completely at a loss as to why Umbridge is under the impression that he can't understand normal English. Hermione has tears of fury in her eyes now, and I can feel myself actually shaking with anger.

"You hag, you evil fucking hag," I whisper furiously under my breath, as she moves over to Parkinson. "I know exactly what you're doing, you vile, awful, vicious, little-"

"Erm... anyway," Hagrid says, clearly struggling to regain the flow of his lesson, "so - Thestrals. Yeah. Well, there's loads o' good stuff abou' them..."

"Do you find," Umbridge begins in a ringing tone to Parkinson, "that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?"

Just like Hermione, Parkinson has tears in her eyes, but instead of fury, these are tears of laughter. Her answer is almost incoherent because she's trying to suppress her giggles.

"No... because... well... it sounds like... like grunting a lot of the time..."

Umbridge scribbles on her clipboard. The bits of Hagrid's face that isn't bruised flushes, but he does his best to act as though he didn't hear Parkinson's answer.

"Er... yeah, good stuff abou' Thestrals. Well, once they're tamed, like this lot, yeh'll never be lost again. 'Mazin sense o' direction, jus' tell 'em where yeh want ter go-"

"Assuming they can understand you, of course," Malfoy says loudly, and Parkinson collapses into a fit of new giggles.

Umbridge smiles indulgently at them, and I watch the three of them, thinking that if the lesson continues on like this, I'll make sure that everyone in this class can see Thestrals. Umbridge moves over to Neville.

"You can see Thestrals, Longbottom, can't you?" she says, and when Neville nods, she asks, her tone indifferent, "Who did you see die?"

"My... my granddad," Neville replies.

"And what do you think of them?" Umbridge inquires, waving a stubby hand at the Thestrals, who have now stripped a great deal of the carcass to the bone.

"Erm," Neville says nervously, glancing at Hagrid. "Well, they're... er... okay..."

"Student... are... too... intimidated... to... admit... they... are... frightened," Umbridge mutters, making another note on her clipboard.

"No!" Neville says, looking upset. "No, I'm not scared of them!"

"It's quite alright," Umbridge says, patting Neville on the shoulder and giving him what she seems to think is an understanding smile, but looks more like a leer to me. She turns back to Hagrid, and now speaking in that loud, slow voice again, says, "Well, Hagrid, I think I've gotten enough to be getting along with. You will receive," she mimes taking something from the air in front of her, "the results of your inspection," she points at the clipboard, "in ten days time," she holds up ten stubby little fingers.

With that, her smile wider and more toad-like than ever underneath that green hat, she bustles from our midst, leaving Malfoy and Parkinson in fits of laughter, Hermione and I still shaking with fury, and Neville looking confused and upset.

"That foul, lying, twisted old gargoyle," Hermione storms half an hour later, as we make our way back up to the castle through the channels we had made through the snow earlier. "You see what she's up to? It's her thing about half-breeds all over again - she's trying to make Hagrid out to be some sort of dimwitted troll, just because he's got a giantess for a mother - oh, and it's not fair, that really wasn't a bad lesson at all - I mean, alright, if it had been Blast-Ended Skrewts again, but Thestrals are fine - in fact, for Hagrid, they're really good!"

"Umbridge said they're dangerous," Ron points out.

"Well, it's like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves," Hermione says impatiently, "and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank usually wouldn't show us them before NEWT level, but, well, they are very interesting, aren't they? The way some people can see them and some can't! I wish I could!"

At that, I tense very slightly.

"Do you?" Harry says quietly.

Hermione suddenly looks horror-struck.

"Oh, Harry - I'm sorry - no, of course I don't - that was a really stupid thing to say."

"It's okay, don't worry," Harry says quickly.

"I'm surprise so many people could see them," Ron remarks, "four in a class-"

"Yeah, Weasley, we were just wondering," a malicious voice says. Unheard by any of us in the muffling snow, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle are walking right behind us, "d'you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you'd be able to see the Quaffle better?"

He, Crabbe, and Goyle roar with laughter as they push their way to the castle, breaking into a chorus of  _Weasley is our King._ Ron's ears turn scarlet.

"Ignore them, just ignore them," Hermione intones, pulling out her wand and performing the charm to produce hot air again, so she can melt us an easier path through the untouched snow between us and the greenhouses.

 

***

 

December arrives, bringing more snow and an absolute avalanche of homework for the fifth years. Ron and Hermione's prefect duties also become more and more strenuous as Christmas approaches. They're called upon to supervise the decoration of the castle ("You try putting up tinsel when Peeves is on the other end and trying to strangle you with it," Ron complains), to watch over first and second years spending their break-times indoors due to the bitter cold ("And they're cheeky little snot rags, you know, we definitely weren't that rude when we were in first year," Ron insists), and to patrol the corridors in shifts with Filch, who suspects that the holiday spirit might show itself in an outbreak of wizard dueling ("He's got dung for brains, that one," Ron declares furiously). They become so busy that Hermione even stops knitting hats for the house-elves and is fretting that she's now down to her last three.

"All those poor elves that I haven't set free yet, having to stay here over Christmas because there aren't enough hats!"

I just continue to work on my Potions essay, not saying anything to that. For the first time, I really don't want to think about Christmas, since, as usual, I'll be staying at the castle over break, and, for once, I'm not excited about it. Between worrying about Hagrid and Umbridge's mere presence, I feel rather resentful towards the castle and want nothing more than to get out of it, if only for a while, but anything is better than Privet Drive, so there isn't much choice for me.

Hermione is going skiing with her parents, something that greatly amuses Ron, who has never heard of anything as silly as Muggles strapping narrow strips of wood onto their feet to slide down mountains. Ron, along with the other Weasleys, is going home to the Burrow. Harry (who is also staying at the castle for the break) and I spend several days being privately envious of him, before he says, in response to Harry asking him how he's going to get home for Christmas, "But you two're coming, too! Didn't I say? Mum wrote and told me to invite the two of you weeks ago!"

Hermione rolls her eyes, and I punch him lightly, but my spirits soar regardless. The thought of Christmas at the Burrow sounds wonderful, even with the fact that Fred and I are still fighting and I'll be forced to face him much more at the Burrow.

Right before the last DA meeting before the holidays, there are Quidditch tryouts to find people to replace Harry, Fred, and George. When Angelina grimly informs Ron and I of this, we exchange gloomy looks, before nodding in understanding. The fact that Harry, Fred, and George are banned for life is bad enough without the fact that it's very unlikely that we're going to find people as good as them to replace them. In spite of this, after dinner that day, we head down for the pitch, and I try to act more helpful than I really am.

It goes exactly as I expected it to: disastrously. Most of the people who show up can hardly handle themselves on a broom, and the few who can either don't get along well with the team, those who are trying out for Beater constantly miss the Bludger or even somehow manage to hit themselves with it, or those going out for Seeker often look in the exact opposite of where the Snitch is and dive dramatically for flashes of gold that are actually just things like watches.

Finally, at the end of it all, Angelina, who looks to be close to tears, decides on Ginny Weasley as Seeker, who isn't actually that bad (though, I know from secretly playing with her over the summer, she's much better as Chaser), and for Beaters, chooses Andrew Kirke and Derrick Bole, who are both positively useless in comparison to the skill Fred and George showed, but could be professional players in comparison to everyone else who tried out.

"That went well," Ron says in a mock-cheery voice, as we head for the changing rooms.

"Yeah, it was a real success," I say gloomily, matching his sarcasm.

"Could've been worse," Katie Bell interjects, catching up with us. "I mean, Ginny's pretty good, and Derrick and Andrew might turn out alright after some practice."

"That's true," I agree, and Ron nods, but our spirits are still pretty low on the ground when we finish getting changed and head up to the castle.

We go straight up to the Room of Requirement for the DA meeting, and walk in to find only Harry and Luna in the room. I pull off my cloak and throw it into a corner, before walking over to Harry.

"Well, we've done it," I say with a sigh.

"Done what?" he asks.

"We've replaced you," I reply, and at his confused look, elaborate. "We need a new Seeker, remember?"

"Who'd you get?" he inquires quickly.

"Ginny," I reply.

He gapes at me, causing me to raise my eyebrows at him.

"Don't look so surprises, she's actually pretty good," I inform him. "Of course, she's got nothing on you, but we haven't got much of a choice about that, do we?" I continue, a note of bitterness in my voice.

"And what about the Beaters?" Harry says, clearly trying to keep his voice even.

"Two blokes," I reply, "called Andrew Kirke and Derrick Bole."

"Are they as good as Fred and George?"

At this, I actually let out a laugh.

"Fred and George could be playing with their eyes closed and they still wouldn't be better than them," I reply, shaking my head, "but they were better than the other idiots that showed up." I'm silent for several moments, before adding, "but don't tell Fred and George I said that."

Harry grins.

"No, especially since you're supposed to still be mad at Fred, aren't you?" says Harry, who knows all about the argument Fred and I had.

"That's what he thinks, yes," I confirm. "But then again, he's probably mad at me too - not that I blame him, obviously, I'd be mad, too."

"Why don't you just apologize to him?" Harry asks.

"I'm  _going_ to," I insist. "I'm just waiting for the right moment."

"And that hasn't showed up in the past few weeks, has it?" he says, eyebrows raised.

"No," I reply pointedly, and at the look on his face, say, "Oh, shut up, Harry. It's  _complicated._ "

"Course it is," Harry says, raising his hands in mock-surrender, and Hermione, Neville, and Ginny show up, putting the conversation to an end.

Within the next ten minutes, everyone comes into the room, and at the end of it, Harry calls everyone to order.

"Okay," he says, "I thought this evening we should just go over the things we've done so far, because it's the last meeting before the holidays, and there's no point in starting anything new right before a three week break-"

"We're not doing anything new?" Zacharias Smith whispers, in a disgruntled whisper that is just loud enough to carry through the room. "If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come."

"We're all really sorry Harry didn't tell you, then," Fred says loudly.

Several people snigger. I let out a laugh, but then bite down on my lip to stop myself, as Fred and I aren't exactly on very good terms at the moment. Though I'm not looking at him, I can practically feel him looking at me.

"We can practice in pairs," Harry continues. "We'll start with the Impediment Jinx for ten minute, then we can get out the cushions and try Stunning again."

We all divide up obediently. I partner up with Neville as usual. The room is soon full of cries of " _Impedimenta_!" People freeze for a minute or so, in which time their partner would stare aimlessly around the room and watch other pairs at word, until they unfreeze and take their turn at the jinx.

Neville has improved beyond all recognition. He manages to freeze me more often than not, and when he does mess up, most of the time it seems to be a lack of confidence that messes him up more than anything.

After ten minutes of the Impediment Jinx, we lay out the cushions all over the floor and practice Stunning again. The space in the room is too confined to allow us all to work at once, so half of the group observes the other half for a while, then we swap. As I watch the other half of the group practice, I can't help but note how much everyone has improved, and it's only been a few weeks.

At the end of the hour, Harry calls a halt.

"You're all getting really good," he states, beaming around at us. "When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff - maybe even Patronuses."

There's a murmur of excitement at this. People start to leave in twos and threes. I help Harry, Ron, and Hermione collect all the cushions and stack them neatly away when it's only us, Cho, and Marietta. I note Harry's eyes flickering to Cho constantly, and with a grin, leave earlier than him along with Ron and Hermione.

Once Ron, Hermione, and I return to the common room, we go over to the best seats bu the fire. Ron lies on the hearthrug and attempts to work on Transfiguration homework, and Hermione and I sit in armchairs beside each other, me working on Herbology homework and Hermione writing a letter to someone I know to be Viktor Krum. We work in semi-silence for half an hour, in which most of the people in the common room go to bed and Hermione has filled up half her parchment, until Harry comes in.

"What kept you?" Ron asks, as Harry sinks into the armchair beside Hermione.

Harry doesn't answer. I glance up from my Herbology homework and find that he looks to be in a state of shock. I raise an eyebrow very slightly, but say nothing.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asks, peering at him over the tip of her quill.

Harry gives a half-hearted shrug. At this, I straighten up from my homework and give him a worried look.

"What's up?" Ron says, hoisting himself up on his elbow to get a clearer view of Harry. "What's happened?"

When Harry still doesn't say anything, Hermione decides to take matters into her own hands.

"Is it Cho?" she asks in a business like way. "Did she corner you after the meeting?" Harry nods.

Ron starts sniggering, but breaks off at the look Hermione gives him.

"So - er - what did she want?" Ron says, his tone mock-casual.

"She-" Harry begins hoarsely, clears his throat, and says, "She - er - "

And very suddenly, I think I understand what's gotten Harry like this.

"Did you kiss, Harry?" I ask suddenly, looking at him with raised eyebrows and a very small, knowing smile.

Ron sits up so fast that he sends his ink bottle flying all over the rug. Disregarding it completely, he stares avidly at Harry.

"Well?" he demands.

Harry looks from his expression of mingled curiosity and hilarity, to Hermione's slight frown, to my raised eyebrows and tiny smile, and nods.

"HA!"

Ron makes a triumphant gesture with his fist and goes into a grating fit of laughter that makes several timid-looking second years beside the window jump. A reluctant-looking grin crosses Harry's face. I stare at Ron for several moments, my brow furrowed, before letting out a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff, and returning to my homework. Hermione, on the other hand, gives Ron a look of deep disgust before returning to her letter.

"Well?" Ron finally says. "How was it?"

I roll my eyes at this. He  _really_ needs to stop doing that.

 _At least Cho isn't around this time, though,_ I point out.

"Wet," Harry answers, after a moment of silence.

Ron lets out a noise that could either be jubilated or disgusted.

"Because she was crying," Harry continues heavily.

"Oh," Ron says. "Are you that bad at kissing?"

"Dunno," Harry replies. "Maybe I am."

"Of course you're not," Hermione says absently, still scribbling away at her letter.

"And how would you know?" Ron asks very sharply.

"Because Cho spends half her time crying these days," Hermione answers vaguely. "She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place."

"You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up," Ron remarks.

I look up momentarily from my Herbology homework to give him a disbelieving look.

"Ron," Hermione begins in a dignified manner, dipping the point of her quill into her inkpot, "you are the most insensitive wart I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

"What's the supposed to mean?" Ron protests indignantly. "What sort of person cries when someone's kissing them?"

"Yeah," Harry agrees, slightly desperate, "who does?"

Hermione and I look between the two of them almost pityingly.

"Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?" Hermione says.

"No," they reply in unison.

Hermione and I exchange exasperated looks, and she lets out a little sigh.

"Boys," I scoff, laying down my quill at last and looking at the two of them squarely. "Well," I begin, "she's obviously really sad, because of Cedric's death and everything. Then I suppose she'll be feeling confused, because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry and she can't decide who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to go and kiss Harry at all, and she'll also be worried about what people might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings for Harry are, anyway, because he was the one with Cedric when he died, so I expect that'll all be very confusing and painful for her - I mean, really, you're going on about how confusing it is for you, but trust me, it's just as bad for her. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be kicked off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying badly lately."

A slightly stunned silence greets my words, until Ron says, looking shocked, "Are you being serious?"

"Yes," I reply, frowning slightly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because one person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode," he replies.

"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," Hermione states nastily, returning to her letter.

"She was the one who started it," Harry points out. "I wouldn't've - she just sort of came at me - and the next thing she's crying all over me - I didn't know what to do."

"Don't blame you, mate," Ron says, looking alarmed at the thought.

"You just had to be nice to her," Hermione says, looking up anxiously. "You were, weren't you?"

"Well," Harry begins, "I sort of - patted her on the back a bit."

I restrain myself from rolling my eyes with difficulty. I exchange exasperated looks with Hermione again, before turning back to Harry.

"Well, it could've been worse," I say fairly. "Are you going to see her again?"

"I'll have to, won't I?" Harry replies. "We have DA meetings, don't we?"

"You know what I mean, Harry," I say.

Harry doesn't reply.

"Oh, well," Hermione says distantly, burying herself within her letter again, "you'll have plenty of opportunities to ask her."

"What if he doesn't want to ask her?" Ron says.

"Don't be silly," Hermione says, "Harry's liked her for ages, haven't you, Harry?"

Again, Harry is silent, but the look on his face is as good as a confirmation, even if he does look rather torn.

"Who're you writing that novel to, anyway?" Ron asks Hermione, trying to read the bit of parchment now trailing onto the floor, but Hermione hitches it up out of sight.

"Viktor."

"Krum?"

"How many Viktor's do we know?"

Ron says nothing to that, but looks thoroughly disgruntled. We sit in silence for another twenty minutes, in which Harry stares into the fire, Ron finishes his Transfiguration essay with many snorts of impatience and crossing-outs, Hermione writing steadily to the very end of her parchment, before rolling it carefully and sealing it, and I continue with the diagram for Herbology.

"Well, night," Hermione says, yawning as she set off for the girls' dormitories.

I finish the last bit of my diagram, roll it up, shove it in my bag, bid Harry and Ron goodnight, and walk over to the girls' dormitories like Hermione had done.

 

***

 

"Miss Knight," a voice calls, shaking me awake. "Miss Knight, wake up."

Thinking it's only Hermione, I groan and shake my head, until I remember two crucial facts: that is not how Hermione sounds, and she never calls me 'Miss Knight'. But I can think of someone who does sound like that and calls me that.

Professor McGonagall.

I open my eyes and find that I'm right. McGonagall is staring down at me, wearing an expression of impatience. I sit up and look around the room, finding that the only other person in the room that's awake is Hermione, who is dressed and looking at us with an expression of confusion that matches how I feel.

"P-Professor?" I say, sitting up and feeling very uncomfortable. What is she doing in here? "What's wrong? Have I done something?"

"No, you haven't done anything, Miss Knight," McGonagall replies. "Now get up and get dressed, the headmaster wants to speak with you two."


	32. The Snake and the Weasley

**Ours**

**Chapter Thirty-Two: The Snake and the Weasley**

 

"The headmaster?" I repeat, now more baffled than ever, glancing over at Hermione, who shrugs, before returning my gaze to McGonagall. "But why would he want to talk to us?"

"I expect you'll find out when you get there," McGonagall replies, with a touch of shortness to her tone.

I look between Hermione and McGonagall cluelessly once more, before muttering, "Okay," getting up, and dressing quickly. Once I'm finished, McGonagall leads us out of the dormitory, across the common room, which is empty (I check my watch and find that it's five in the morning), through the portrait hole, and into the corridors of the castle.

We walk in silence, and I watch McGonagall's back apprehensively as we walk. The last time Dumbledore had wanted to see us, it had been because Hermione and I were part of the second task, and therefore ended up in a sort of coma at the bottom of the Black Lake, so I'm not exactly excited for what's in store this visit. After all, if we had done nothing wrong, why would he want to talk to us? And why so early?

When we finally reach the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office, McGonagall says, "Fizzing Whizzbee."

The gargoyle springs to life and leaps aside. The wall splits in two to reveal a stone staircase that's moving continuously upwards like a spiral escalator. We step onto the moving stairs; the wall closes behind us with a thud and we're moving upwards in tight circles until we reach the highly polished oak door with a brass knocked shaped like a griffin.

From the other side of the door, there are voices sounding from the other side of the door. One I recognize to be Dumbledore's voice. The other is Umbridge's.

"How dare you let those students leave the grounds without my knowing?" I can hear Umbridge demand. "I am the High Inquisitor of this school, I am supposed to give permission for affairs like this!"

"Be that as it may, I am the headmaster of this school, and I gave permission for them to leave, considering the circumstances," Dumbledore's voice says calmly. "They are his family, Dolores."

They are whose family?

"And Potter?" Umbridge says. "What about him?"

I feel an unpleasant jolt in my stomach. What has happened with Harry? Has he left early?

"He has just as much of a right to leave as they," Dumbledore replies, "for he was the one who witnessed the event."

Witnessed what event? Who are 'they'?

"Oh, and how exactly did he witness this event?" Umbridge asks, a bit of a scoff to her voice.

Before Umbridge can reply, McGonagall knocks sharply on the door, putting the conversation on the other side to an abrupt halt. I can't help but feel disappointed, since I won't be able to know Dumbledore's reply - unless that's what Dumbledore wants to talk to Hermione and I about?

"Come in," comes Dumbledore's voice.

McGonagall opens the door and we find Dumbledore sitting at his desk, with Umbridge standing on the other side of it, her toad-like face wearing an expression of hostility.

"What are they doing in here?" Umbridge demands.

"They are here under my invitation," Dumbledore answers, "as are you, Dolores. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to have a word with Miss Granger and Miss Knight in private. I will, of course," he adds, at the look on Umbridge's face, "continue this discussion I was having with you, but afterwards. I imagine Miss Granger and Miss Knight are very confused to have been summoned to my office at such a late time, and I do feel as though I owe them to explain the situation to them soon."

Umbridge looks from Dumbledore, to McGonagall, to me, to Hermione, and back again, before letting out an angry noise, turning on the spot, and storming over to the staircase.

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore says, nodding at McGonagall. "You may go, as well."

McGonagall nods once, before turning and going to the staircase as well, shutting the door behind her, making much less of a scene than Umbridge.

"Miss Granger, Miss Knight," Dumbledore says, turning to us, "have a seat."

Hermione and I exchange apprehensive looks, before walking across the office and settling into the two chairs opposite him, sitting at the edge of our seats.

"You're not in any sort of trouble," Dumbledore informs us, clearly noticing our worried expressions.

"Then - then what are we doing here, Professor?" Hermione asks.

"It's actually about what I was talking about with Professor Umbridge," Dumbledore replies. "As I am aware, you two are friendly with Harry Potter and the Weasleys?"

Again, Hermione and I exchange nervous looks, before turning back to Dumbledore and nodding.

"Have - have they left, sir?" I inquire. "We - erm - we heard the conversation you and Umb - I mean - Professor Umbridge were having through the door."

I expect him to be disapproving, but instead, a very faint smile crosses Dumbledore's face.

"You heard correctly, Miss Knight," Dumbledore answers. "Yes, last night they left the castle. I conjured a Portkey for them. They're currently in Grimmauld Place."

"Why?" Hermione asks.

"Last night, Arthur Weasley was injured while working for the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore replies, and at our horrified looks, adds, "He's at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and he's going to be fine, but had Harry not been able to see it, the circumstances would've been much different."

"Wait - what do you mean, Harry saw it?" I say, though I'm relieved that Mr. Weasley is alright.

"He saw it while he was sleeping," says Dumbledore. "He saw it happen in the perspective of the snake that attacked Mr. Weasley."

Hermione and I exchange terrified glances, but before we can say anything to what he has just told us, he continues.

"Now that I have told you this, I must ask you whether you'd like to go to Grimmauld Place, as well?" Dumbledore asks.

"Yes," I reply immediately, and Hermione nods.

Dumbledore nods slightly, saying, "I cannot permit you to leave until term ends, and I imagine Professor Umbridge would not permit it, either," at this, the corner of my lips twitch upwards in a smile, "but I will arrange for a member of the Order to come and get you when you arrive at Platform Nine and Three Quarters tomorrow, and from there you can take the Knight Bus to Grimmauld Place."

We nod in understanding, and just then, there's a knock on the door.

"That'll be Professor Umbridge," Dumbledore says. "You two may go. Come in," he adds, raising his voice to be heard through the door.

WE stand up just as Umbridge opens the door and strides in. We walk past her and to the stairs, and I can feel her staring after us until I shut the door.

"What do you want to do now?" I ask cluelessly. After what we had been told by Dumbledore, the idea of doing anything normal like going to breakfast or the common room seems very strange.

"We could go to breakfast," Hermione suggests. "It's just staring."

"Okay," I shrug, though I can tell it feels odd for her, too.

We talk about what Dumbledore told us all the way into the Great Hall, but stop when Neville and Dean sit by us, putting the conversation to a halt.

"Did you hear what happened with Harry?" Dean asks. Hermione and I look at each other quickly, before I look back at them, forcing myself to look confused.

"No," I reply, "why? What happened?"

"It was weird, I woke up, and he was writhing in his sheets, until Ron finally managed to get him to wake up, and he kept saying Ron's dad was attacked," Dean says.

"It was terrible," Neville admits. "I went to get Professor McGonagall, and she took Harry and Ron to Dumbledore's office, and we haven't seen them since."

"Really?" I say. "We hadn't heard anything! Is he alright? Is Ron's dad alright?"

"We haven't a clue," Dean replies, shaking his head. "We haven't gotten any word from McGonagall."

"That's awful," Hermione says, putting on a worried look.

The rest of the day passes unbearably slow. The idea of still having to go to classes after what has happened seems ridiculous, but we don't have much choice, so we continue on with our schoolwork, and I try my best to concentrate, though it's almost impossible. The castle seems almost empty without Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George, so when the term finally ends the next day and Hermione and I board the Hogwarts Express, I can't help but feel excited.

We spend the majority of the train ride discussing what Dumbledore had told us the previous day, but considering we don't have many answers to the questions we're asking, we eventually break off, figuring we'll get answers from Harry and the others once we get there.

When the train comes to a halt at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Hermione and I take our trunks and our pets and join the crowd surging forward off the train, and onto the platform. Once we're on the platform, we look around nervously, trying to find the Order member that will take us to Grimmauld Place, since Dumbledore hadn't said who exactly it would be.

"See anyone?" I ask of Hermione, going on tiptoe to look over the heads of a tall family of two equally tall seventh years.

"No, not yet," she replies, looking off into the opposite direction and biting her lip.

"How about now?" a voice from behind us asks.

We both jump, before whirling around to the source of the voice. Standing before us is Tonks, her hair pink and her smile wide.

"Tonks!" Hermione and I exclaim in unison.

"You're the one getting us, then?" I add.

"No, where would you get that idea?" she says, grinning. "It's actually that bloke over there."

She jerks her head in the direction of the guard standing just outside the station, who regulates entries and exits from the platform. Hermione and I both laugh.

"Should've known," I say, smiling.

"Come on, then, we haven't got all day," Tonks says, and we begin making our way through the crowds to the platform entrance, "or, at least,  _I_ haven't."

"So, we're taking the Knight Bus?" Hermione says. "What's it like? I've never been before." 

"Nauseating," I reply.

"But efficient," Tonks adds brightly.

Hermione frowns slightly, but doesn't say anything else on the matter, as the three of us walk very casually through the barrier and onto the other side. We look around, making sure that no Muggles have seen us, and since nobody is staring at us with a shocked, confused or disbelieving expression, we assume nobody has.

Tonks leads us out of King's Cross and a good distance away from the business of the streets, and the three of us pull our jackets tighter around us, shivering in the cold winter weather. Once we're in less of a busy road, Tonks sticks her wand arm out. Hermione looks confused for a moment, but she seems to understand a moment later, when there's a loud bang and the triple-decker, purple bus that is the Knight Bus stops in front of us. The door opens and Stan Shunpike steps out, as usual.

"Good afternoon, misses, welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch-"

"Oh, yes, yes, we understand," Tonks says impatiently. "Three passengers."

Just like how she had done in August, she tells Stan the address and gives him the money, before leading Hermione and I near the back. There are more passengers than there was last time, I note, probably considering the time of year and time of day.

"I sincerely hope you don't get car sick easily, Hermione," I whisper to her.

"What is so bad about this-?" she begins, looking from how I'm gripping on very tightly to the seat of my chair.

She's cut off by the bus starting with a tremendous bang, and she's thrown backward by the speed of the bus. Hermione manages to regain her balance, struggling back over to her seat, looking slightly ruffled and very shocked. I look at the expression on her face and can't help but let out a laugh.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," I inform her, grinning.

"But surely we'll crash?" Hermione points out, but Tonks shakes her head.

"No, look at this," she says, pointing out at the window.

Whenever the bus threatens to crash into a nearby tree, lamppost, trashcan, anything, whatever is in its path jumps out of the way, before returning to its original place. It also weaves its way through the tiniest of spaces. Hermione stares out the window in wonder, before looking back at us.

"But don't the Muggles notice?" she says.

"They never do," Tonks replies, shrugging slightly.

It takes even less time than before to get to our stop, since King's Cross is closer to the location that Tonks has given Stan than Privet Drive is. Considering the amount of times I fall over in spite of gripping onto my chair, and how nauseous I feel, I'm hardly disappointed when Stan tells us that our stop is soon.

When the Knight Bus bangs to a halt at our stop, causing Tonks, Hermione, and I to all fall over, Hermione and I gather our stuff, and we hurry out of the bus as quickly as one can when they feel sick. When I hit the ground, I stumble for several moments, in an attempt to regain my balance.

"So, to answer your question, Hermione, that is what's so bad about the Knight Bus," I say to her, once I manage to get myself to walk normally.

"I'd like to say it gets better after the first go, but I can't exactly say that with her around, can I?" Tonks says, grinning and nodding at me, as she leads the way down the road, leading us to the grimy Muggle neighborhood where Grimmauld Place is. "But once you've gone on it enough times, it stops being absolutely terrible."

"Yeah?" I say skeptically.

"Yeah," she confirms. "After a while, it just gets terrible."

Hermione and I laugh.

"Well, personally, I think I'm going to avoid going on it so many times," Hermione states.

"I hear you on that once," I say.

"Yeah? Well, tough luck, because you two'll be going on it again at the end of the break," Tonks informs us. "To get back to Hogwarts." Hermione and I let out groans, causing Tonks to laugh. When we reach the grimy front doorsteps of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Tonks goes to ring the doorbell.

"Wait, no, Tonks-" I begin, remembering that the doorbell will often awaken the portrait of Sirius' mother and she'll start screaming at the top of her lungs, but it's too late, she's already rung the doorbell.

Immediately, on the other side of the door, her screaming sounds from the other side of the door. The door opens, revealing Mrs. Weasley, and behind her I can see Sirius and Bill working to close the curtains of her portrait.

"OH, SHUT UP YOU MISERABLE OLD HAG!" Sirius yells as Mrs. Weasley hurries us inside, and with a great amount of effort, he and Bill manage to slam the curtains closed again.

"Oh, sorry," Tonks says earnestly, "I always forget that every little thing gets that old hag screaming. No offence, of course," she adds to Sirius.

"Like I'd take any offense," Sirius scoffs.

"Ron and Ginny are upstairs in Ron and Harry's room, by the way," Mrs. Weasley adds to Hermione and I.

"Where's Harry?" I ask.

At my question, a worried expression crosses Mrs. Weasley's face.

"He just - erm - he'd like to be alone for a while, that's all," she replies.

I frown slightly at her answer, exchanging worried and curious glances with Hermione, but nod and head upstairs. We deposit our things in the room that we share with Ginny, before going over to Ron's room on the second floor. Hermione knocks, and it's Ginny who answers, her face splitting into a grin when she sees us.

"Hey, what're you doing here?" she asks of Hermione, as she moves over to let us into the room. "Aren't you supposed to be sliding down mountains with strips of wood on your feet?"

"You could've just said skiing," I point out.

"Ah, same thing," Ginny says absently, waving a hand.

"I changed my mind," Hermione replies, shrugging. Noticing the amused look on Ron's face, she adds, "Skiing's really good, but I decided to come here for Christmas. Besides, we hears about what happened. Dumbledore told us first thing the next morning, but we had to wait until term actually ended before setting off. Umbridge's already furious that you left right under her nose-"

"Good," Ginny and Ron say in unison.

"-but anyways, what's this about Harry wanting to be alone for a while?" Hermione continues.

At this, Ron and Ginny exchange nervous looks.

"What?" I say suspiciously, watching the two of them closely.

"Well, we were in St. Mungo's to visit Dad," Ron begins, "when they kicked us out to talk about Order stuff, but Fred and George brought along Extendable Ears, so we listened in to what they were saying, and - well, basically the Order might reckon Harry's being possessed by You-Know-Who and that's how he saw Dad getting attacked."

"They think he's being possessed?" I repeat. "But he can't be! Can he?"

"Well, that's what we want to know," Ginny says. "But the problem is that he's been hiding from all of us since we got back - he isn't even going down during mealtimes, or anything - and he didn't look at any of us on the way back, which is even more stupid than it would be under normal conditions, since  _I'm_ the only bloody person he knows that's been possessed by You-Know-Who."

Hermione opens her mouth to speak, but at that moment, Mrs. Weasley knocks on the door and comes in, carrying a plate of sandwiches. She also lights a fire for us, something we all thank her for, before she says to try getting Harry down as well, and exits the room.

"We've been trying, Mum," Ron says, with a slight sigh. "We've been trying."

Hermione and I exchange looks.

"Well, I suppose we better give it a go," she says. "He doesn't know we know yet, so maybe we'll be able to get him out in the open again. What room is he in?"

"The room Sirius keeps Buckbeak in," Ginny replies, and we nod.

"We'll be back," I say, and together, Hermione and I walk out of Ron's room, and up the stairs to the room where Buckbeak is kept.

When we reach the door, Hermione knocks on the door. There's no reply. After several minutes, I get impatient, and start hammering on the door.

"We know you're in there," Hermione calls. "Will you please come out? We want to talk to you."

Finally, there's footsteps from the other side of the door, and the door opens to reveal Harry.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asks. "I thought you went skiing with your mum and dad?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, skiing's not really my thing," Hermione replies, and I grin slightly. "So I've come here for Christmas. But don't tell Ron, I've told him skiing's really good because he kept laughing so much. Mum and Dad are a bit disappointed, but I've told them that everyone who is serious about exams is staying at Hogwarts to study. They want me to do well, they'll understand."

When Harry looks at me, I just shrug, leaning against the door frame.

"Well, where was I going to go? Privet Drive?" I say jokingly. "Or stay at Hogwarts, when all the fun's clearly here? Anyway, let's go down to Ron's room, his mum's lit a fire, and she's sent up sandwiches."

Harry follows us back down to the second floor and into Ron's room, where Ron and Ginny are sitting on Ron's bed. Realizing I still have my jacked and hat on, I quickly pull them both off.

"We came on the Knight Bus," Hermione says airily, pulling off her own jacket. "Dumbledore told us what happened first thing, but we had to wait until the end of term before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot managed to escape without her knowing, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's and he'd given you all permission to visit. So..." Hermione and I sit down next to Ron and Ginny, and the four of us look up at him.

"How're you feeling?" I ask.

"Fine," Harry replies stiffly, and my eyes narrow very slightly.

"Oh, don't lie, Harry," I say impatiently. "Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you all came back from St. Mungo's."

"Oh, they do, do they?" Harry says, glaring at Ginny and Ron, causing the latter to look down at his feet, but the former looks quite unabashed.

"Well, you have!" Ginny states. "And you won't look at any of us!"

"It's you lot who won't look at me!" Harry insists.

"Maybe you're taking it in turns to look, and keep missing each other," Hermione suggests, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards in a smile, and I grin at her.

"Very funny," Harry snaps, turning away.

"Oh, stop feeling so misunderstood," Hermione says sharply. "Look, the others have told us what you overheard yesterday on the Extendable Ears-"

"Yeah?" Harry growls, stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring out the window. "All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it."

"We wanted to talk to you, Harry," Ginny says, "but as you've been hiding ever since we got back-"

"I didn't want anyone to talk to me!" Harry exclaims, looking nettled.

"Well, that was a bit stupid of you," Ginny says angrily, "seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."

There's a silence at her words.

"I forgot," Harry says finally.

"Lucky you," Ginny says coolly.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologizes. "So... so, do you think I'm being possessed, then?"

"Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?" Ginny asks. "Are there big blank periods where you can't remember what you've been up to?"

Harry is silent for a moment, clearly thinking the question over.

"No," he finally answers.

"Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you," Ginny says simply. "When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I had been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I'd gotten there."

"The dream I had about your dad and the snake, though-" Harry points out.

"But you've had dreams like that before, Harry," I counter. "You had flashes of what Voldemort was doing last year, too."

"That was different," Harry argues, shaking his head. "I was inside that snake. It's like I was the snake... what if Voldemort somehow transported me to London-?"

"One day," Hermione cuts in, looking thoroughly exasperated, "you'll read  _Hogwarts: A History_ , and perhaps then you'll remember that you can't Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds. Even Voldemort couldn't just make you fly out of your dormitory, Harry."

"You didn't leave your bed, mate," Ron says. "I saw you thrashing around in your sleep for at least a minute before we could wake you up."

Harry starts pacing up and down the room, looking unconvinced. Finally, he seems to realize that what we're all saying is true, because he suddenly picks up a sandwich from the plate and crams it into his mouth, something I take to be a good sign, if he wasn't eating beforehand. At that moment, we hear Sirius singing God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs' at the top of his lungs, which lightens the mood completely, and I'm so grateful for it that, for all the world, I could've gone out and joined Sirius.


	33. Challenges

**Ours**

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Challenges**

 

Sirius' delight at having everyone at Grimmauld Place for Christmas is infectious. He's no longer the sullen host of the summer; now he's determined to make sure that everyone should enjoy themselves as much, if not more, than we would've done at Hogwarts, working tirelessly in cleaning and decorating with our help. The house is quickly becoming almost unrecognizable. The tarnished chandeliers are no longer hung with cobwebs, but garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers; magical snow glitters in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocks the Black family tree from view, and even the stuffed elf-heads on the hall walls wear Father Christmas hats and beards.

The only thing preventing everything from being perfect is Fred. But then again, I suppose that that's my own fault, because all I need to do is apologize to him. I don't know what keeps holding me back. The fear of him not accepting my apology? That might be it, but it's also something else. Soon, I realize that I simply really do not want to explain why I had gotten angry, why his words that night affected me that much. But I owe him that much, don't I?

Three days before Christmas, I pull Hermione and Ginny into our room.

"We needed to have a meeting," I state, noticing their confused looks as they sit down on Ginny's bed.

"About?" Hermione prompts.

"About," I begin nervously, "well, about Fred."

"You mean the fight you two had?" Ginny says.

"Yep," I confirm, before beginning to pace up and down the room. "I mean, I know I have to apologize, but how exactly am I supposed to go about it? Do I just say it, or do I say something else that leads into it? How am I even supposed to get him to talk to me when he's probably furious?"

"Hazel," Ginny says, "I think you might be thinking about this too much."

"What if I'm not thinking about it enough?" I say. "What if he doesn't even accept my apology, then what do I do? I mean, I'm not going to bloody give up, how could I, but do I just apologize a bunch of times until he gives in? What if I said sorry a million times, he can't possibly stay mad if I-"

"Hazel," Hermione cut in, "I really don't think you need to go that far."

I open my mouth to speak and say that I just might need to go that far, but Ginny beats me to it.

"Look, I was talking to Fred the other day, and we talked about you for a bit, and he said he still was a bit mad, but he mostly just misses you. I mean, he didn't outright say he misses you, but you could tell that he does."

I stop pacing abruptly, almost tripping over my own two feet as I do. I turn to look at the two of them, hardly daring to believe what I had just heard.

"Wait," I say, "he - he misses me? How d'you know, if he didn't say?"

"It's just obvious, isn't it?" Ginny answers, shrugging. "The way he talked about you and everything."

"Not just that, but he keeps staring at you during mealtimes," Hermione adds. "You never notice it, because you never look at him until he looks away, but everyone else does."

"You know, I think the only reason he hasn't said anything himself is because he doesn't want to make you mad again," Ginny continues. "So, go on and grow some balls and say it yourself."

I look at them for several moments, blinking. Then I sit down heavily onto the bed opposite them.

"You think so?" I say, and when they nod, I let out a sigh. "I've been a bit of a prat, then, haven't I?"

"A bit, yes," Ginny replies, though she's smiling. "So, go on then."

"Alright, fine," I say, and stand up again. "I'll - I'll go do that."

I walk out of the room. I'm halfway down the hall when I remember something. I hurry back over to the door, opening it and staying at the frame, knocking to get their attention.

"Erm - do any of you happen to know where Fred is?"

They both grin at me.

"Last I saw him he was in his and George's room," Ginny replies, laughing.

"Right," I say, "right. Well, wish me luck, then."

"Good luck," they say in unison, and I walk back out of the room.

Trying to go over what I'll say to him, I head over to Fred and George's room. I find myself there sooner than I would've liked, and, taking a deep breath, knock on the door.

George opens it. I smile weakly at him.

"Hi," I say.

"Hello," he replies. "Erm - Fred's in here, so I dunno-"

"Good," I say. "I was - erm - I wanted to talk to him."

I give him a meaningful look. A look of understanding crosses George's face.

"Well, come right on in, then," he says, moving out of the way to let me into the room.

I move into the room. Fred, who'd been facing the opposite direction, looks around. When he sees me, his before relaxed expression disappears, replaced by something I can't quite read. My heart sinks slightly, but then again, what had I really expected?

"Erm, hi, Fred," I greet awkwardly.

George looks from Fred, to me, to Fred, to me, and back again. He repeats the action several times, before finally speaking.

"I think I've just heard my name - I have - erm - a thing I need to go to -  yeah, right - I'll see you two later," he says, and walks out of the room quickly, closing the door behind him.

The sound of the door closing is followed by a heavy silence. He looks away from me, and I stare at him. His refusal to look at me makes me wonder if Ginny and Hermione had been lying to me to make me feel better. Had he really missed me? How could he have stared at me during mealtimes, if he was now looking so fixedly at the floor? Finally, I decide that I need to get this going somehow.

"Look," I begin nervously, "I wanted to talk to you about - about - well, you know. That night. And our argument the next day."

His eyes flicker towards me, before returning to the floor, but he still doesn't say anything.

 _Well, I suppose a glance is something,_ I think, though rather bitterly.

"I - I wanted to apologize for snapping at you like that," I continue. "I shouldn't have done it - I really shouldn't have done it - I mean, it's not like you meant for any of it to happen, and you did try to talk about it after, so I shouldn't have gotten angry at you like that, so I'm sorry."

Again, he doesn't say anything, and he still won't look at me. Fighting off mixed feelings of discouragement and irritation, I go on.

"And I know this is late - really late, actually - but I reckon it still needs to be said," I state. "And - erm - I also thing I owe you an explanation. You know, about why it upsets me so much."

At this, Fred finally looks up at me. I feel triumphant, but also a little bit disappointed, upset that the part that I'm dreading to tell him the most is the part where he gives me his full attention.

"Well - erm - it's just - I know you didn't mean a lot of what you said," I say, "especially certain parts of it. And, I mean, I could've dealt with that. But then you went to talk about it... and, I dunno, the idea of you outright saying that you didn't mean it, that kind of rejection - I didn't want to deal with it. So, for one reason or another, to make it easier, I got all angry and snapped at you. I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry I did, but that's why."

Again, I'm greeted by silence. He just continues to look at me, so I continue to look at him. After several minutes of heavy silence, I start to get annoyed.

"Well, yeah, I just wanted to explain why I did what I did and apologize for it," I say. "So, if you haven't got anything, then I'll just..."

I trail of aimlessly, since I actually have no idea what I'll just do, hoping he'll take the hint and say something. When he still doesn't say anything, that's when I start getting more than a little angry. I wasn't going to be explaining and admitting all this to him, just to not get anything out of him, that's for sure. I face him more squarely, crossing my arms and looking at him determinedly, before speaking.

 

*Third Person in Fred's Perspective*

 

Fred stood, staring at her silently, listening as she talked, taking in what she had just told him. She didn't want the rejection. That was why she got angry. The anger was just something she could hide under. He continued to stare at her, her with her gorgeous face, even when it carried nervousness and a touch of irritation, and wondered how she could ever think he would ever reject her.

"Well, yeah, I just wanted to explain why I did what I did and apologize for it," Hazel said. "So, if you haven't got anything, then I'll just..."

She trailed off. Fred got the distinct impression that she didn't really know what she was going to do if he didn't have anything. He almost smiled, but he still didn't say anything.

"Look, Fred, I get that you're angry at me, really, I do. I'd be angry at me, too - in fact, I am angry at me for doing that, but if you could say something, that'd be helpful," Hazel said when he was still silent, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed, "because this is the second time I've told you something that was difficult to get out and you just stood there and didn't say anything, and it gets a bit annoying after a while, you know-"

At this, he finally spoke.

"The second time?" he repeated, his voice slightly hoarse. "When was the first?"

Hazel stared at him for several moments, looking partly relieved and partly disbelieving.

"Does August ring a bell?" she said. "You know, when I told you I bloody fancied you and you just looked at me?"

"Well, you can hardly blame me for just looking at you," Fred said, without thinking, "pretty as you are, and everything."

She blushed, and now it was her turn to look down at the floor. Hazel did this for several moments, and Fred stared at her as she did, a ghost of a smile on his face, before she finally looked back up at him, still slightly pink.

"Right - erm - thanks," Hazel said awkwardly, trying not to look pleased. "So - erm - about that apology, then... am I forgiven?"

"Are you forgiven?" Fred repeated. When she needed, he said. "Well, yes, you are, but..."

"But what?" she asked, and she looked nervous again.

"Not - not really sure how to put it," he mumbled, but she still heard every word.

"Then just," she said, stepping closer to him, "say how you feel. Say exactly how you feel."

Fred stared at her for a moment, licking his lips nervously and wanting nothing more than to kiss her. He didn't know how to say exactly how he felt, but he could hardly deny her of telling her how he felt when she told him what she had.

"How I feel?" he repeated, and she nodded. "Well... I'm a bit surprised that you think I'd ever reject you, because I thought it was obvious at this point that I'm completely mad for you, and I also wish I could stay mad at you, but you make it rather difficult sometimes, especially over something like this, especially after you explained everything. I'm also a bit relieved, because I started to think about it more, and I thought I'd said something that, like, mortally offended you and you were just going to stay mad at me forever. I also think you look really, really pretty - but then again, you always do - and I really, really, really want to kiss you, but I'm-"

"Then why don't you?" Hazel said suddenly, her expression now quite different.

Fred looked at her in confusion, brow furrowed slightly.

"Why don't I what?" he asked her blankly.

"If you want to kiss me so badly, then why don't you?" she elaborated.

"Well," Fred began nervously, "I'm not entirely sure if you'd like to kiss me, and you seemed a bit tense, so I wasn't sure if you were really in the mood for snogging at all, and I just wasn't sure if it was the right time, you know, it's very difficult to make out when it's the right time or not, sometimes, I don't know if you've noticed that, but, Merlin, I really hope it is, because you're really just - and again, just the atmosphere of the room and everything-"

"Well," Hazel said, putting an end to Fred's rambling, "there's talking about snogging, and then there's actual snogging. Your choice."

Fred looked at her in disbelief for several moments. Then he saw the smile on Hazel's face and realized she was playing with him.

"Is that a challenge?" he asked.

"It is if you want it to be," she replied, shrugging.

He continued to stare at her. Then, very slowly, a grin broke out across his face.

"Well, then," he said, "I accept."

He walked over to her, closing the rest of the space between them, and kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she wrapped hers around his neck, running her hands through his hair, and Fred held her closer to him, because he hadn't been able to hold her and kiss her like this in weeks.

"So," he said breathlessly, when he pulled away from her, "have I won?"

"W-what?" she said, looking from his lips up to his eyes, causing Fred to feel a rush of satisfaction.

"The challenge," Fred elaborated. "Have I won?"

A small smile crossed Hazel's face.

"Yes," she replied. "God, yes, you have."

With that answer leaving Fred to feel extremely satisfied, Hazel retracted her arms from around his neck, grabbed a fistful of the front of his jumper, and pulled him back to her in a kiss.

 

*First Person in Hazel's Perspective*

 

It's amazing, really, how light you can feel after you get something heavy off your chest. It's amazing how free and invincible you can feel afterwards. It's amazing how not too long ago, I was dreading apologizing to Fred and wondering miserably if he was even going to accept it, wondering miserably what I would have to do to get him to forgive me, and now I'm in his room and kissing him. It's amazing how one person can officially make the holidays completely perfect for me. I only pull away from Fred, and it's with completely and utter reluctance, when I hear a soft and muffled thumping noise, along with the sound of someone punching someone, from the other side of the door.

"Did you hear that?" I ask him quietly.

"Hear what?" he asks.

I jerk my head in the direction of the door. We're both dead silent for a moment, waiting, and sure enough, we hear the sound of impatient voices.

"Quiet, they'll hear us!" George's voice hisses, his voice muffled and just barely heard through the door. If only we hadn't been paying attention, they would've gotten away with this.

"You don't think..." Fred says quietly.

"I do," I say, detaching myself from Fred.

Very silently, I walk across the room to the door, and, sure enough, I see the flesh coloured string. George, and clearly some other people with him, had been listening in on our conversation with the Extendable Ears.

"Nosy gits," I mumble under my breath.

I look over at Fred and wink at him, smiling mischievously. I crouch down, take the piece of string, and hold it closer to my mouth.

"Having fun there, you lot?" I ask very loudly, speaking into the piece of string.

There's several noises of protest at this, causing Fred and I to burst out laughing, and I make sure to move the string away from my mouth at that. I stand up and move away from the door, while Fred crosses the room and opens the door, revealing George, Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, each of them holding a string and wearing a guilty expression.

Fred and I glance at each other, holding back smiles with difficult, before turning back to them. I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow at them.

"Did you really have to talk so loud?" George asks. "I reckon I'm going to go deaf after that."

"Did you really have to eavesdrop?" I ask, mocking his tone. "I mean, really, is nothing private."

"No," George replies bluntly. "That's the point of these things, isn't it?"

He brandishes his string. I shake my head at him, exasperated, though I'm smiling. After all, when things have taken a sudden turn and become very, very alright, how could I possibly stay mad?


	34. St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

**Ours**

**Chapter Thirty-Four: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

 

Christmas morning dawns bright and cold, and I, as usual, am the first in the room to wake up. My great love for sleep is always left utterly forgotten on Christmas, only to be remembered the next day and every day onward until Christmas comes once again. I leap out of bed, beaming around the room, before practically skipping over to Hermione's bed and waking her up, doing the same thing to Ginny afterwards.

"Hazel," Ginny groans, "let me sleep."

"It's  _Christmas,_ Ginny," I remind he matter-of-factly. "You'll have plenty of time to sleep on  _other_ days."

"You sound like my mum," she informs me, sitting up on bed and rubbing her eyes blearily.

I simply smile cheekily at her, satisfied in myself for having succeeded in waking her, before walking back to my own bed, sitting on it, and beginning to open my presents. I receive a large book on Ancient Runes form Hermione, and, skimming through it, I find it to actually be decently interesting, and I can tell already that it'll be extremely useful for the OWL's, and even the NEWT's later on; Ron's present is an enormous box of Chocolate Frogs; Harry has given me a set of Quidditch books, full of moving coloured illustrations of several teams and players, and interesting facts about them and the sport itself; Remus had given me a Sneakoscope and a Broomstick Servicing Kit, which I'm grateful for, due to how my broom has become slightly worn in all the years I've had it; Sirius and Tonks had given me an excellent Broom Compass, something that excites me greatly, since I'd been meaning to get one for ages; Lee had gotten me a large box of Zonko's products; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley give me a Weasley jumper (which I throw in immediately) and a bit of fudge (which is delicious); I receive a new, soft jumper from Ginny; George, true to his word, had given me a copy of the picture of Fred with his eyebrows seared off, along with chocolate from Honeydukes; and Fred had given me a bunch of photos of the two of us together, and on the back of each one, he had put some sort of comment, something about how pretty I had looked, or that he was thinking about how funny or lovely I am at the time of the picture being taken, or some sort of funny comment, and to my disbelief and amusement, he had also given me a sprig of mistletoe with a note attached to it, reading:  _use whenever you feel it necessary._

I shake my head at it, smiling in spite of myself.

"Fred," I whisper to myself, unable to keep the fondness out of my tone.

I put it back in its box, making a mental note to use it at some point with Fred today. I dig through my trunk, until I find the Father Christmas hat that I had found in a wizard cracker on Christmas during first year, and put it on my head. Now festively dressed, I turn back to Hermione and Ginny. Hermione is holding a bottle of perfume, looking slightly surprised.

"Who's that from?" I ask, nodding towards it.

"Ron," she replies. "And it's a bit...  _unusual_ , but..."

"Let me smell," I say, walking towards her.

She sprays a bit of it in the air, and I sniff it curiously. I think for a moment afterwards.

"Well, unusual is right," I agree. "But it's still not bad, either."

"That is true," she says, smiling slightly.

"It's strange, though," Ginny comments. "How my brother is starting to give - erm -  _romantic_ gestures to the girl of his interests."

"The girl of his interests?" Hermione repeats, scoffing.

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ginny says. "You can't say you haven't noticed that he likes you."

"No, I haven't noticed, because he doesn't," Hermione says firmly.

I look at her in disbelief, before shaking my head and turning back to Ginny.

"Was I think bad?" I ask.

"Worse," she replies, and I frown.

"I'm terribly sorry, in that case," I inform her.

Hermione simply rolls her eyes at us, causing Ginny and I to exchange exasperated looks.

"Anyway, I'm going to go wake the others," I announce, turning and heading out the door.

As I walk up the steps to the room Harry and Ron share, I exchange cheerful greetings and Happy Christmases with people I pass. Once I reach Harry and Ron's room, I knock on the door, before flinging it open, bursting into the room, and loudly announcing, "Wake up, you lot, it's Christma- oh, you're awake."

They look up and grin at me.

"Happy Christmas," they say in unison.

"Happy Christmas," I return brightly, walking further into the room and sitting on the foot of Ron's bed. "Sorry about that, I expected you'd be asleep. I had to wake Hermione and Ginny up, anyway. It's odd, you know, because it's usually  _Hermione_ waking  _me_ up. Some would call it a nice change - I'm one of those people. So would Hermione, I bet, I expect it gets very annoying after a while... anyway, how're you?"

"Good," they reply.

"You?" Harry adds.

"I'm brilliant," I reply matter-of-factly, grinning slightly.

"Good," Ron says, "now, don't go downstairs for a bit if you want it to stay that way."

"Why?" I ask suspiciously.

"Because Mum's been crying again, because Percy the Prat returned his Christmas jumper without any sort of note. Didn't ask how Dad was doing or anything," Ron replies. "Fred and George tried to comfort her - told her that Percy was just a giant git - but it didn't work out well, so now Lupin's giving it a shot, and I reckon it's best we leave it to him."

"Ah," I say in understanding, nodding slightly and feeling very angry at Percy, "I see."

"By the way, thanks for the Cannons posters," Ron adds to me, pointing at the large, moving, coloured posters of the Chudley Cannons, Ron's Quidditch team.

"No problem," I reply, and I suddenly notice the painting on Harry's bed. It is perhaps the worst painting I've ever seen in my life. "Harry, what is that?"

He looks at where I'm pointing and sees the painting.

"Erm, it's Dobby's present for me," he replies, and I smile slightly.

"What's it supposed to be?" I ask.

"No clue," Harry replies.

Ron laughs at that.

"Yeah, right, you bloody liar," he says. "It's supposed to be Harry."

At that, I burst out laughing in spite of myself. I sit up from Ron's bed and walk over to Harry's, snatching up the painting before he can stop me. I examine it closely for several moments, grinning broadly, before looking back up from it.

"You know, now that you mention it, it's very well done," I state. "very accurate, when you think about it." I hold the painting up to his face, before turning to Ron and saying, "I mean, really, doesn't it just look  _exact_?"

"I definitely see it," Ron agrees, laughing.

"Shut up," Harry says, snatching the painting back and shoving me slightly, which only makes me laugh.

I leave the room to allow them to dress, and in the meanwhile, I find Fred and George.

"Happy Christmas," I greet cheerfully, hugging Fred and George and kissing the former quickly.

"Happy Christmas," they chorus.

"Liked my gifts, Knight?" Fred adds.

"I liked the photos, but the other gift is another matter entirely," I reply briskly, but I'm smiling up at him. "I mean, really, mistletoe? You'll try anything, won't you?"

"And shamelessly," he replies casually, shrugging and putting an arm around my shoulders. "But, you know, regardless of my shameless attempts to get you to kiss me more, I still reckon it'd just be a waste not to put it to use."

"And what if I just happened to disagree with that?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

"But you don't," he replies.

"You've got me there," I admit, and he grins at me.

As I go back down to the room I share with Hermione and Ginny, I meet Hermione halfway, and find that she's carrying a neatly wrapped present with her. Hermione explains that Ginny had already gone downstairs, so Hermione and I head up the hall together, meeting with Harry and Ron halfway.

"Thanks for the book, Harry," Hermione says brightly, after they greet each other. "I've been wanting  _New Theory of Numerology_ for ages! And that perfume's really unusual, Ron."

"No problem," Ron replies. "Who's that for, anyway?" he adds, nodding at the present Hermione is carrying.

"Kreacher," Hermione answers brightly.

"It had better not be clothes!" Ron warns. "You know what Sirius said, Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!"

"It isn't clothes," Hermione says, "though if I had it my way I'd give him something else to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt, I thought it'd brighten up his bedroom."

"What bedroom?" Harry asks, lowering his voice to a whisper as we pass the portrait of Sirius' mother.

"Well, Sirius says it's not so much of a bedroom, more a kind of - den," Hermione says. "Apparently he sleeps in that boiler in that cupboard off the kitchen."

Mrs. Weasley is the only person in the basement when we arrive there. She sounds as if she has a bad head cold when she wishes us 'Happy Christmas,' and we all avert our eyes.

"So, is this Kreacher's bedroom?" Ron asks, strolling over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry. Now thinking about it, I realize that I've never seen that door open.

"Yes," Hermione replies, now sounding slightly nervous. "Er... I think we'd better knock."

Ron raps on the door with his knuckles, but there's no reply.

"He must be sneaking around upstairs," Ron states, and opens the door. "Urgh!"

I peer inside curiously. Most of the room is taken up by a large and rather old-fashioned boiler, but in the foot of space underneath the pipes, Kreacher has made himself something of a nest. A jumbled assortment of rags and smelly old blankets are piled on the floor, and the small dent in the middle of it all marks the place where Kreacher curls up every night. Here and there are pieces of stale bread crust and moldy cheese. In the far corner, small objects and coins glint, the objects that Kreacher had managed to save from Sirius' purge of the house. Kreacher has also managed to retrieve the silver-framed family photographs that Sirius had thrown away over the summer. The glasses are shattered, but still the little black-and-white people inside the photos peer haughtily up at us, including a dark, heavily-lidded woman that I vaguely recognize. It takes me a moment to remember where I had seen that woman: in the dream I had about Sirius, the one where he had fallen through a door and never come back. The woman had been the one who ensured that he couldn't be saved.

 _A coincidence,_ I insist to myself sternly, trying to ignore the unpleasant swooping sensation in my stomach.  _Just a coincidence._

But I still make a mental note to talk to Sirius about the woman later.

By the looks of it, the woman is Kreacher's favourite, since he had placed it to the fore of all the others, and he has mended the glass, albeit clumsily, with Spellotape.

"I think I'll just leave his present here," Hermione announces, laying the package neatly in the middle of all the rags and blankets and closing the door quietly. "He'll find it later, that'll be fine."

"Come to think of it," Sirius says, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as we close the cupboard door, "has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?"

"I haven't seen him since the night we came back here," Harry replies. "You were ordering him out of the kitchen."

"Yeah..." Sirius says, frowning. "You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too... he must be hiding upstairs somewhere."

"He can't have left, can he?" Harry says. "I mean, when you said 'out', maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?"

"No, no, house-elves can't leave until they're given clothes. They're bound to the house," Sirius shakes his head.

"They can leave if they really want to," Harry counters. "Dobby did, he left the Malfoys to give me a warning two years ago. He had to punish himself afterwards, but he still did it."

Sirius looks worried for a moment, before saying, "I'll go look for him later. I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something. Of course, he might've crawled in the airing cupboard and died... but I musn't get my hopes up."

Fred, George, and Ron laugh, but Hermione looks reproachful.

After eating Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and I all decide to pay Mr. Weasley a visit, accompanied by Moody and Remus. Mundungus turns up in time for Christmas pudding and trifles, having managed to 'borrow' a car for the occasion (and, knowing Mundungus, I use the term 'borrow' very loosely), as the Underground doesn't work on Christmas day. The car has been enlarged with a spell, just like the Weasleys' old Ford Anglia had been. Although normally sized on the outside, eleven people plus Mundungus driving are able to fit quite comfortably on the inside. Mrs. Weasley hesitates before entering - I can tell that her dislike and lack of trust for Mundungus is battling fiercely with her distaste for travelling without magic - but finally, the cold weather and her children's pleading triumphs, and she climbs into the backseat between Fred and Bill with good grace. The journey to St. Mungo's is quite quick, since there is very little traffic on the road.

The Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, Remus, Moody, and I get out of the car, and Mundungus drives around the corner to wait for us. We stroll down the nearly deserted street, until we stop at an old-fashioned, red-bricked department store called 'Purge & Dowse Ltd.' The place has a shabby, miserably air about it; the window display consists of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew, standing at random and modelling fashions that are at least ten years out of date. Large signs on all of the dusty doors read: 'Closed for Refurbishment'.

Moody walks up to the window with no display but a particularly unpleasant looking female dummy, the rest of us following behind him.

"Everyone ready?" Moody asks gruffly, and, without waiting for reply, turns back to the dummy and says, "We're here to see Arthur Weasley."

I stare at him in confusion.

"What is he-?" I whisper to Remus, who's closest to me and very likely to know what's going on.

"Watch," Remus whispers back, nodding towards the window.

I look round right on time to see, to my complete and utter surprise, the dummy nod and beckon Moody forward with her index finger. Moody seizes Harry and Mrs. Weasley by the elbows, and the three of them step right through the glass and vanish. Next, Fred, George, and Ron follow after them. I stare at them in shock.

"Come on," Remus says, pushing me forward slightly and smiling at my stunned reaction.

I nod slightly, and we, along with Hermione, step through the glass. For a moment, I feel like I'm stepping through rather cold water, but emerge on the other side quite warm and dry. The room isn't very crowded, but there still are a fair amount of people. The room is pleasantly festive; the crystal orbs around the room have been coloured red and gold to become giant, glowing Christmas baubles; shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glitter in each corner, each one topped with a golden star.

Witches and wizards in lime green robes are walking around the room, holding clipboards in their arms and stopping to ask questions to patients. I notice an emblem embroidered on their chest: a wand and bone, crossed.

"Are those doctors?" I ask Remus in an undertone, nodding towards the wizards.

"Doctors?" Remus repeats, mildly surprised. "No, they're Healers. Same idea, but very different in practices."

Mrs. Weasley leads the way to a desk marked Enquirers, where a plump blonde witch is dealing with a witch that has a satsuma jammed up her left nostril.

"Family argument, eh?" smirks the blonde witch. "You're the third I've seen today... Spell Damage, fourth floor."

At this, I look up at the floor guide:

ARTIFACT ACCIDENTS.............. Ground floor

Cauldron explosion, wand backfiring, broom crashes, etc.

CREATURE-INDUCED INJURIES.............. First floor

Bites, stings, burns, embedded spines, etc.

MAGICAL BUGS.............. Second floor

Contagious maladies, e.g dragon pox, vanishing sickness, scrofungulus, etc.

POTION AND PLANT POISONING.............. Third floor

Rashes, regurgitation, uncontrollable giggling, etc.

SPELL DAMAGE.............. Fourth floor

Unliftable jinxes, hexes, incorrectly applied charms, etc.

VISITOR'S TEAROOM/HOSPITAL SHOP.............. Fifth floor

 

The blonde witch directs us to the first floor, second door on our right, and when we walk into the direction room, we find Mr. Weasley propped up on his bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray on his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face. My brow furrows slightly at the sight of his expression, but I don't say anything on it, opting to smile at him again.

"Everything alright, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley asks, after we've all greeted him and handed him our presents.

"Fine, fine," Mr. Weasley replies, a little too heartily. "You - er - you haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

"No," Mrs. Weasley answers suspiciously, "why?"

"Nothing, nothing," Mr. Weasley says airily, beginning to unwrap his pile of presents. "Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry - this is absolutely wonderful!" he adds enthusiastically, for he had opened Harry's gift of fuse-wires and screwdrivers.

Mrs. Weasley does not seem to be altogether satisfied with her husband's answer to her question. As Mr. Weasley leans over to shake hands with Harry, she peers at the bandaging under his nightshirt.

"Arthur," Mrs. Weasley says suddenly, a snap in her voice that reminds me of a mousetrap, "you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they didn't need doing until tomorrow."

"What?" Mr. Weasley says, looking rather frightened and pulling the sheets higher up over his chest. "No, no - it's nothing - it's - I -"

He seems to deflate under Mrs. Weasley's piercing gaze.

"Well - now, don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea... he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in... um... complementary medicine... I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies... well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on - Muggle wounds-"

Mrs. Weasley lets out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Remus gets to his feet and strolls over to the werewolf sharing the room with Mr. Weasley, who has no visitors and is staring wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley. Bill mutters something about getting a cup of tea, and Fred and George accompany him, grinning.

"Do you mean to tell me," Mrs. Weasley begins, her voice getting louder with every word and seemingly unaware that her fellow visitors are now scurrying for cover, "that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"

"Not messing about, Molly, dear," Mr. Weasley says imploringly, "it was just - just something that Pye and I thought we'd try - only, most unfortunately - well, with these particular kind of wounds - it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped-"

"Meaning?"

"Well... well, I don't know whether you know what - what stitches are?"

"It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together," says Mrs. Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, "but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid-"

"I fancy a cup of tea, too," Harry announces suddenly, jumping to his feet.

Hermione, Ron, Ginny and I almost sprint to the door after him. As the door swings closed behind us, we hear Mrs. Weasley shriek, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?"

"Typical Dad," Ginny states, shaking her head as we set off up the corridor. "Stitches... I ask you..."

"Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds," Hermione says fairly. "I suppose something in the snake's venom dissolves them or something. I wonder where the tearoom is?"

"Fifth floor," I pipe up, remembering the sign over the desk.

We walk along the corridor, through a set of double doors and find a rickety staircase lined with portraits of brutal-looking Healers. As we climb it, several Healers call out to us, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting terrible remedies. Ron is seriously offended when a medieval wizard calls out to him that he clearly has a terrible case of spattergroit.

"And what's that supposed to be?" he demands angrily of the wizard, as he follows Ron through six more portraits, pushing the occupants out of the way in an attempt to get to Ron.

"'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now-"

"Watch who you're calling gruesome!" Ron says, his ears turning red.

"-the only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight around your throat, stand naked at the full moon in a barrel of eel's eyes-" the wizard continues, ignoring Ron.

"I have not got spattergroit!" Ron insists.

"But the unsightly blemishes on your visage, young master-"

"They're freckles!" says Ron furiously. "Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!"

He rounds on the rest of us. I note that we're all fighting to keep straight faces.

"What floor is this?"

"I think it's the fifth," Hermione states.

"Nah, it's the fourth," Harry corrects her, "one more-"

But as he steps on the landing he comes to an abrupt halt, staring at the small window set into the double doors that mark the start of a corridor signposted 'SPELL DAMAGE'. A man is peering out at all of us with his nose pressed against the glass. He has wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a broad vacant smile that reveals dazzlingly white teeth. I stare at him in shock.

"Blimey!" Ron says, also staring at the man.

"Oh, my goodness," Hermione says, suddenly sounding breathless. "Professor Lockhart."

Our ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher pushes the door open and moves towards us, wearing a long, lilac dressing gown.

"Well, hello there!" he says grandly. "I expect you'd all like my autograph, would you?"

 _Some things never change,_ I think.

"Er - how are you, Professor?" Ron asks, sounding slightly guilty.

It had been Ron's malfunctioning wand that's the reason Lockhart is even in St. Mungo's in the first place, and though I feel slightly guilty myself, my sympathies are somewhat limited, as Lockhart had been attempting to wipe the memories of Ron, Harry, and I at the time, not giving much thought or care into the fact that Ginny's life was in great danger at the time.

"I'm very well indeed, thank you!" Lockhart replies exuberantly, pulling out a rather battered peacock-feathered quill from his pocket. "Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!"

"Er - we don't want any at the moment, thanks," Ron says, raising an eyebrow slightly at the rest of us.

"Professor, should you be wandering around the corridors? Shouldn't you be in a ward?" Harry says.

The smile fades slowly from Lockhart's face. For a few moments he gazes intently at Harry.

"Haven't we met?" Lockhart says finally.

"Er... yeah, we have," Harry answers. "You used to teach us at Hogwarts."

"Teach?" Lockhart repeats, looking faintly unsettled. "Me? Did I?"

Then the smile on his face reappears so suddenly it's actually rather alarming.

"Taught you everything I know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say around a dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!"

But just then, a head pokes out of a door at the far end of the corridor and a voice calls, "Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?"

A motherly-looking Healer wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair comes bustling up the corridor, smiling warmly at us.

"Oh, Gilderoy, you've got visitors! How lovely, and on Christmas day, too! Do you know, he never gets visitors, poor lamb, and I can't think why, he's such a sweetie, aren't you?"

"We're doing autographs!" Lockhart informs the Healer with another one of his glittering smiles. If I didn't know he was such an idiot, I would've found him a lot more attractive. "They want loads of them, won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!"

"Listen to him," the Healer says, taking Lockhart's arm and beaming at him as though he's a precious three year-old. "He was very well known a few years back. We very much hope that this liking for giving out autographs is a sign that his memory is starting to come back. Will you step this way? He's in a closed ward, you know, he must've slipped out while I was bringing in the Christmas presents, the door's usually kept locked... not tat he's dangerous! But," she lowers her voice to a whisper, "he's a bit of a danger to himself, bless him... doesn't know who he is, you see, wanders off and can't remember how to get back... it is nice of you to have come and seen him."

"Er," Ron says awkwardly, gesturing uselessly at the ceiling above, "actually, we were just - er - "

But the Healer is smiling so expectantly at us that Ron's feeble muttering of 'going to get a cup of tea' turns into nothingness. We look at each other helpless, then follow Lockhart and his Healer along the corridor.

"Let's not stay long," Ron says quietly.

The Healer points her wand at the door of the Janus Thickey Ward and mutters, " _Alohomora!_ "

The door swings open and the Healer leads the way inside, keeping a firm grip on Lockhart's arm until she has settled him into an armchair by his bed.

"This is our long-term residents ward," the Healer informs Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I in a low voice. "For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement. Gilderoy does seem to be getting some sense of self; and we've seen a real improvement in Mr. Bode, he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn't speaking any language we can recognize yet. Well, I must finish handing out Christmas presents, I'll leave you all to chat."

I look around the room, which does show signs of it being a permanent home to its residents. There are many more personal effects around the beds than there are in Mr. Weasley's ward; the wall around Lockhart's headboard, for instance, is papered with pictures of himself, all beaming toothily and waving at the new arrivals. He has autographed many of them in disjointed, childish writing. The moment he had been deposited in his chair by his Healer, Lockhart has pulled a stack of photographs towards him, seized a quill, and is now starting to sign them all feverishly.

"You can put them in envelopes," he says to Ginny, throwing signed photographs into her lap one by one as he finishes them. "I am not forgotten, you know, so, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail... Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly... I just wish I knew why..." he pauses, looking faintly puzzled, then beams again and returns to signing with renewed vigor. "I suspect it's simply my good looks..."

I pause to think for a moment about how that's more true than Lockhart knows.

A sallow-skinned, mournful-looking wizard lay in the bed opposite, staring at the ceiling; he's mumbling to himself and seems quite unaware of everything around him. Two beds along is a woman whose entire head is covered in fur, causing me to remember the time that something similar had happened to Hermione in second year, though the damage done to her hadn't been permanent. At the far end of the ward, flowery curtains have been drawn around two beds to give the occupants and their visitors a bit of privacy.

"Here you are, Agnes," the Healer says brightly to the furry-faced woman, handing her a small pile of Christmas presents. "See, not forgotten, are you? And your son's sent an owl saying he's visiting tonight, isn't that nice?"

Agnes gives several loud barks in reply.

"And look, Broderick, you've been sent a pot plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy Hippogriff for each month; they'll brighten things up, won't they?" the Healer continues, bustling over to the mumbling man, setting a rather ugly-looking potted plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and fixing the calendar on the wall with her wand. "And - oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?"

My head whips around. The curtains around the beds at the end of the ward have been drawn back, and the two visitors are walking back down the aisle between the beds. One is a formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur, and a pointed hat decorated with what's unmistakably a stuffed vulture, and trailing behind her and looking thoroughly depressed is Neville.

I remember Remus telling me in a letter last year why Neville lived with his grandmother, and with a sudden whoosh of understanding, know what two people must be occupying the beds at the end of the ward. I cast around wildly for some sort of distraction so that Neville can leave unnoticed and unquestioned, and I'm just about to start talking about the plan that Broderick had received, but Ron too had looked up at the name 'Longbottom,' and before I can stop him, he calls out, "Neville!"

Neville jumps and cowers as though a bullet had narrowly missed him, and it takes a lot to refrain from cringing.

"It's us, Neville!" Ron says brightly, getting to his feet. "Have you seen-? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?"

"Friends of yours, Neville, dear?" Neville's grandmother says graciously, bearing down at us all.

Neville looks quite like he'd rather be anywhere but here. A dull purple flush is creeping up on his face and he is refusing to make eye contact with any of us.

"Ah, yes," Neville's grandmother continues, looking closely at Harry and sticking out a shriveled, clawlike hand for him to shake. "Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you."

"Er - thanks," Harry says, shaking hands with the woman. Neville looks down at his feet, the colour in his face deepening all the while.

"And you two are clearly the Weasleys," she goes on, offering her hand regally to Ron and Ginny. "Yes, I know your parents - not well, of course - but fine, fine people... and you'll be Hazel Knight, yes?"

I blink, staring blankly at her, surprised that she knows me by name. I manage to snap out of my shock to shake her proffered hand, though.

"Yes, I know your parents, too. Not very well, but I knew them well enough to know you look exactly like your mother. They were fine, fine people, it's terrible what happened to them. Neville speaks very highly of you, of course," Neville's grandmother says, nodding at me. "I've hear that you've been very kind to him, a very good friend."

I half glance at Neville, who's looking more and more miserably by the second, and suddenly feel that I have not been that great of a friend.

"And you," Neville's grandmother continues, turning to Hermione, "must be Hermione Granger."

Hermione too looks startled at the woman recognizing her, but shakes hands with her all the same.

"Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy," Neville's grandmother adds, casting a sternly appraising look down her bony nose at Neville, "but he hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say," and she jerks her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, so the stuffed vulture on her hat trembles alarmingly.

"What?" says Ron, looking amazed. I want to stamp on Ron's foot, but find that I'm unable to, because actions like that cannot go unnoticed when you're wearing jeans like they can when you're wearing robes. "Is that your dad down the end, Neville?"

"What's this?" Neville's grandmother says sharply. "Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?"

Neville takes a deep breath, looks up at the ceiling, shakes his head. I don't think I have ever felt sorrier for a person, but I also don't see how I can possibly help him out of the situation, not at this point.

"Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" his grandmother says angrily. "You should be proud, Neville, proud! They didn't give up their health and sanity so that their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!"

"I'm not ashamed," Neville says very faintly, still looking anywhere but us.

Ron is now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants at the two beds. I really don't know how he can't see how distressed Neville is about all of this. I glance at Neville, before sidestepping very subtly over to Ron, grabbing onto the back of his shirt, and yanking him back onto his heels. He glares at me, but I pretend not to notice.

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!" Neville's grandmother insists. "My son and his wife," she continues haughtily, turning to Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I, "were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers."

Hermione and Ginny clap their hands over their mouths. Ron stops glaring at me to look back up at the woman, mortified. I force myself to look shocked and horrified. The horrified part isn't hard - in fact, it's not even put on.

"They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the wizarding community," Mrs. Longbottom goes on. "Highly gifted, the pair of them. I - yes, Alice, dear, what is it?"

Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. Her face is thin and worn, her eyes seem overlarge and her hair, which is white, is wispy and dead-looking. She does not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she's simply unable to, but she makes timid motions towards Neville, holding something outstretched in her hand.

"Again?" Mrs. Longbottom asks, slightly weary. "Very well, Alice, dear, very well - Neville, take it, whatever it is."

But Neville has already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper.

"Very nice, dear," says Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder.

Neville, on the other hand, quietly says, "Thanks, Mum."

His mother totters away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looks at us, his expression defiant, as though daring us to say something or laugh, but I don't think I've ever seen anything less funny.

"Well, we'd better get back," Mrs. Longbottom sighs, drawing on long green gloves. "Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough to paper your bedroom by now."

But as they leave, I'm quite certain I see Neville slip the wrapper into his pocket, just as the door closes behind them.

"I never knew," says Hermione, who looks tearful.

"Nor did I," Ron adds, rather hoarsely.

"Nor me," Ginny whispers.

The three of them look at Harry and I.

"I knew," I admit miserably. "Remus told me in a letter a while ago, but he said not to tell anyone I knew - Neville doesn't even know that I knew - and even if he didn't, I wasn't exactly keen to go blabbing about it."

"I knew, too," Harry interjects glumly. "Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't tell anyone... that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds."

"Bellatrix Lestrange did that?" Hermione whispers, horrified. "That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?"

There's a long silent, in which I think dimly that I now have a name to the face that I've seen in nightmares and photographs. Under normal circumstances, I would've found this to be a bigger deal, and I also would've wondered why I'm having dreams about her preventing Sirius from being saved. But what happened only moments ago pressed down upon me, stifling my curiosity. The silence is broken by Lockhart's angry voice.

"Look, I didn't learn joined-up writing for nothing, you know!"

 

***

 

Later that day, back at Grimmauld Place, I'm walking down the hall, intent on going to the room Harry and Ron share, as I know that they, Hermione, and Ginny are there, but as I pass the room that Hermione, Ginny, and I share, the door opens and I'm suddenly yanked inside.

I make a small noise of protest, but it stops very abruptly in my throat when the door closes and I'm pushed up against it, and I realize that I'm face-to-face and very close with Fred. I smile slightly in spite of myself, in spite of the fact that since the surprise visit from Neville, the Christmas spirit that had been burning inside me had been stilted slightly. Fred simply, as much as I would never admit it to him, had that effect on people.

 _Or at least on me_ , I think.

"Hello, Fred," I greet casually. "Fancy meeting you in here. D'you come here often?"

"When there's a chance of you being in here, most of the time," he replies.

"I'll keep that in mind," I state, but suddenly fall very silent as he moves his face closer to mine.

"Please do," he whispers, before closing the space between us and kissing me.

I groan very slightly, kissing him back fiercely, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and holding onto him tightly.

"You know what today is?" he asks me between kisses.

"Er - Christmas?" I reply, pulling away to look at him suspiciously.

"Exactly," Fred nods, kissing my nose once, causing me to let out a giggle. "And you know what Christmas means?"

I think I know exactly what it means, but I act like I don't.

"Refresh my memory," I say in a low voice.

He looks at me longingly for a moment, before saying, "It means that a year ago I took you to the Yule Ball, and I kissed you for the first time. And I look at how many times I've kissed you since then. Bloody amazing, if you ask me."

"Sure is," I agree, my smile widening. "Though, I'll admit, it's rather sweet that you remembered the exact day. Though, I suspect it's helpful when it's  _Christmas,_ " I continue contemplatively.

"Would've remembered it on any other date," he insists.

"I'm sure you would," I say, a hint of sarcasm in my tone.

"You don't believe me," he states.

"I never said that," I protest.

"You implied it," Fred counters.

"That's true," I admit, my grin widening.

He stares at me for several moments, a grin crossing his face.

"Where did you put my present?" he asks abruptly.

"Over there," I say, nodding at the pile of boxes at the foot of my bed.

"I like how mine's on top," he comments vaguely, picking it up and opening it. "Lets me pretend that you like mine the best."

"Cocky are we, Weasley?" I ask, crossing my arms and leaning against the door, grinning at him.

He uses a free hand to wave a hand absently, not looking up at me.

"Knight, I fancy the pants off of you," he informs me, "it's gratifying to think that you like me more than other people. Ah, here we are."

He pulls out the sprig of mistletoe, before turning back and walking over to me, an odd expression on his face as he does.

"Merlin," he mumbles to himself.

"What?" I ask, now rather worried. "Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just - you're bloody perfect," he breathes as he reaches me, paying very careful attention to make sure that we're just as close as we were before, if not closer.

"Er - thanks - but I - I wouldn't say perfect or anything like that," I stammer nervously, looking up at him with my heart in my mouth. I desperately wish I had something cleverer to say, but I end up being quite speechless whenever Fred says things like that.

He grins slightly, clearly noticing that I've turned red. When he holds the mistletoe over our heads, I roll my eyes at him, forgetting my embarrassment to shake my head and crack a smile.

"You really are shameless, aren't you, Fred?" I say.

"Never said I wasn't, did I?" he points out.

"You could at least  _attempt_ to deny it,"

"But then I'd just be lying to everyone, wouldn't I?" he counters.

"Good point," I say thoughtfully.

"I have those more than you clearly think, you know," Fred states.

"See, now you're just pushing it," I remark, laughing.

He laughs, but says, "You're awful, Knight,"

"And yet you're standing here holding mistletoe over our heads in an attempt to get us to snog, so that says something, doesn't it?" I point out.

"Maybe I like awful," he replies.

"Or maybe I'm just not very awful at all," I counter.

"You've got me there," he admits, and I grin. He continues, lowering his head slightly so that our faces are closer together, "So, are we going to snog?"

I suddenly think of what Luna had told me during the last DA meeting before the holidays had begun, and grin even wider than before.

"Well, I'm not sure," I reply, feigning uncertainty. "It just - well, it might be _dangerous_."

Fred raises his eyebrows at me, and I wonder why he had to end up being so annoyingly good looking.

"Dangerous?" he repeats disbelievingly.

"Yeah," I insist. "I mean, it's probably just absolutely  _infested_ with Nargles."

He looks at me blankly, but then his expression changes, looking from my eyes to my lips, before returning it to my eyes and tilting my head forward and lowering his own more so that the space between our faces is practically nonexistent.

"What are Nargles, Hazel?" he asks me quietly, and I think vaguely that my name always sounds so much nicer when he says it.

"I don't know," I admit in a whisper, staring at him longingly, and it's in that moment that I realize that I have every detail of his memorized, probably right down to the very last freckle. "I don't care."

With those words hanging in the air and a laugh about to escape Fred's lips, I close the space between us and kiss him. I wrap my arms around his neck again, one of them wandering up to his hair, playing with it and grabbing and tugging lightly at clumps of it between my fingers. He wraps his free arm around my waist, letting out a small groan against my lips as he kisses me back. I normally manage to be very retrained when kissing Fred, but when he sucks on my lower lip the way he is now, restrain is an impossible task.

"Fred," I sigh against his lips, before throwing myself closer to him, so that he stumbles backward slightly, before regaining his balance.

When he wraps another arm around my waist, it's then that I realize that he had been holding the mistletoe over us the entire time. I open my eyes slightly, to see that he's thrown the sprig of mistletoe aside, where it lays forgotten. I smile slightly, closing my eyes again and practically melting from his kiss.

When he pulls away from me, his red hair messier and his dark eyes slightly brighter than usual, the personification of everything I could've wanted in a boyfriend, the first words that leave the lips that I had just kissed, the lips that I want to kiss again, are, "Blimey, Hazel, I should've gotten you mistletoe  _ages_ ago!"

I don't say it out loud, but I can't agree with him more.


	35. Back to Hogwarts

**Ours**

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Back to Hogwarts**

 

As it turns out, Kreacher had been lurking in the attic. Sirius said he had found him up there, covered in dust, no doubt searching for more relics of Black to hide in his cupboard. Sirius seemed to be satisfied with Kreacher's story, but I'm still a little uneasy. Kreacher seems to be in a much better mood since his reappearance, his bitter mutterings subsiding somewhat and submitting to orders more docilely than usual (of course, the change isn't huge, but it still is enough to take notice of it), so much that I wonder if Kreacher really had taken Sirius' order to get out as to get out of the house, and had gone and given away information on the Order.

I don't raise these concerns to Sirius, though, because he, unlike Kreacher, has gotten more and more sullen as the end of the holidays approach, becoming taciturn and grumpy, often locking himself away in the room where Buckbeak is kept for hours at a time, clearly upset that he is soon going to be left alone in the house with no one but Kreacher to keep him company. His gloom seeps through the house, oozing under the doorways like some sort of noxious gas, until we all become infected by it. I'd rather not add anything negative to the atmosphere, especially not with theories that might turn out to be completely false. I do, however, decide to raise my concerns to Remus.

"Remus, can I talk to you for a moment?" I ask him quietly, not long after dinner one night.

He frowns slightly, but nods and follows me upstairs to an empty hallway.

"Something wrong, Hazel?" he asks me, concerned.

"No - well - erm - yes, actually," I reply. "I mean, I dunno, it's probably not a very big deal - but then again, it might be, so better safe than sorry, right? I don't know, it's just - well, you know Kreacher?"

Remus' brow furrows slightly.

"Yes, I know Kreacher," he answers, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, watching me closely. "What about him?"

"It's just - when he came back he seemed... cheery," I state.

"And this is a concern to you?"

"Well, yes," I reply, somewhat awkwardly. "I mean, he's never exactly been the cheerful type before, has he?"

"No, not quite," he agrees with me.

"And I was just worried about... well, a while ago Sirius told him to get out, so what if Kreacher thought he meant to literally get out of the house, so he got out of the house and then told someone - erm - someone who shouldn't know anything about the Order stuff about the Order, and then he just came back and only  _said_ he's been in the attic, when really he's been giving away information?" I say, and when Remus opens his mouth to speak, I quickly add, "I know house-elves aren't supposed to lie to their masters or break any of the rules, but that doesn't mean that they can't do it if they really wanted to. They just have to punish themselves afterwards."

Remus closes his mouth, and looks at me thoughtfully. At first I think that he thinks that my theory is ridiculous, but then he continues to look thoughtful and not say anything, I realize that he at least thinks I've raised a good point.

"Well, I suppose he could've..." he says, "he's certainly not loyal to Sirius or the Order because he  _wants_ to be, so I suppose he wouldn't have a problem with betraying us, even if he did have to punish himself afterwards..."

Relieved that he doesn't find the idea to be stupid, I add, "I was going to just go to Sirius himself, but I mean, I might be completely off and paranoid, and I didn't want to add to his - erm - his bad mood."

"His bad mood?" Remus repeats, raising his eyebrows slightly.

I got to explain myself a bit further, but then realize he seems faintly amused, and crack a tiny smile myself.

"Well, the Christmas spirit has certainly passed," I say.

"Indeed it has," Remus agrees, rubbing his face blearily. "Well, you do raise a fair point, so I'll be sure to mention it to Sirius. Though, knowing Kreacher, he really could have only been lurking in the attic, trying to find more Black family relics."

"I know, but, well, just in case," I say quickly, and he gives a slight nod.

We lapse into more relaxed conversation after that.

"So, if I've heard correctly, Dolores Umbridge is your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he says, and I'm thrilled to hear a tone of disgust in his voice when he says Umbridge's name. When I nod, he continues, "And what's that like?"

"Oh, she's a delight," I say very seriously.

"Oh, yeah?" Remus says, looking at me skeptically.

"Yeah," I confirm, nodding. "I mean, who knew there'd be a teacher who can teach you how to be evil, prejudiced, and tacky all at once? She gives you a real run for your money, Remus."

He laughs, and I grin at that.

"If that's what she's like, I clearly do," he says, smiling and matching my sarcasm, and my grin widens, before my expression turns serious.

"But in all seriousness, you're much better than she is - as a teacher and a person. Really, we would've been so much better off if you had stayed a teacher..." I trail off, looking at him pointedly but with fake innocence.

"That, I'm not so sure of," is all he says.

"Well, I am," I say stubbornly.

He doesn't say anything to that, and I wonder, with a considerable amount of sadness, if he will ever realize that his lycanthropy has never and will never define him.

"You're what?" a voice asks, and we turn to find Sirius standing there, clearly deciding to take a break from hiding away from everyone.

I grin slightly, because though I don't want to confront Sirius about Kreacher, there is something I want to ask both him and Remus.

"I'm curious," I reply, "about the Marauders Map."

"What about it?" Sirius asks, and Remus looks at me closely.

"Well, you know how you tap it with your wand and say 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good' and the map'll appear, and then you tap it again and say 'Mischief Managed' and it'll disappear again? I was wondering how you'd go about doing that," I say. "I mean, what kind of magic did you use to do it?"

Sirius and Remus glance at each other, before turning back to me.

"Why did you want to know?" Remus says.

"It's for the Defense group we're doing," I reply. "You know, the secret one that's kind of really against the rules. We wrote everyone's names down on a piece of parchment, and I mean, we're definitely not likely to keep it lying around, but just in case something happened, I wanted to be able to just wipe it like you do with the Marauders Map after every meeting, that way even if something  _does_ happen, Umbridge - or anyone else, for that matter - won't find anything out."

"I see," Sirius says, with a slight nod. "Well, it's a bit complicated, but I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out."

With that, the two of them launch into an explanation of the spell they put on the Marauders Map, and I listen with rapt attention, almost wishing I could take notes, as I really don't want to make a mistake with it. When they're finished, I thank them both gratefully and promise them that I'll work on it as soon as I get back to Hogwarts, and I mean it.

 

***

 

On the last day of the holidays, Harry and Ron are playing wizard chess in their bedroom, observed by Hermione, Ginny, Crookshanks and I, when Mrs. Weasley pokes her head into the room.

"Harry, dear," she says, "could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you."

Harry doesn't seem to have registered Mrs. Weasley's words; one of his castles is engaging in an aggressive fight with one of Ron's pawns, and he's egging it on enthusiastically.

"Squash him - squash him, he's only a pawn, you idiot. Sorry, Mrs. Weasley, what did you say?"

"Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He'd like a word."

Harry's mouth falls open in horror. He looks around at Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and I, who are all gaping back at him. Crookshanks, who Hermione had been restraining with difficulty for the past quarter of an hour, leaps gleefully onto the board and sends the pieces running for cover, squealing at the top of their voices.

"Snape?" Harry says blankly.

"Professor Snape, dear," Mrs. Weasley corrects him. "Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long."

"What's he want with you?" Ron says, looking unnerved as Mrs. Weasley withdraws from the room. "You haven't done anything, have you?"

"No!" Harry replies indignantly, looking as though he's racking his brains to remember anything he could have possible done to upset Snape so much he'd come to see him over the holidays.

Finally, he just gets to his feet, bidding us goodbye. We wish his good luck in reply. When the door closes, the four of us are silent for a long time, until Ron turns to me and breaks the silence.

"Come on, I didn't get to finish the game I played with Harry, you play me," he says, beginning to gather the pieces and put them in their proper place, though they continue to dive for cover, clearly terrified of Crookshanks. "Hermione, control your bloody cat."

"Oh, you only want to play me because you know you'll beat me," I state, though I help him gather the pieces as Hermione takes hold of a struggling Crookshanks.

"Well, I know I'd beat Harry, too," he points out.

"Cocky," I remark teasingly.

"With good reason," he replies jokingly, and I grin. "Now, come on."

"Alright, fine," I say, and we launch into a game.

Just as Ron is about to beat me, Fred and George burst into the room.

"What is it?" I ask, noticing the look on their faces.

"Dad's back," they reply, beaming.

Immediately, we all jump to our feet, Hermione dropping Crookshanks, who lets out an irritated hiss, before attacking the chess pieces once more. We all hurry out of the room after Fred and George.

"This isn't over, by the way," Ron mutters to me, though he's grinning broadly. "I've still got a game to win."

"Of course," I say to him, "nothing entertains me more than losing spectacularly to you in chess, don't you know?"

He laughs, and, grinning, we hurry down to the front entrance, where Mrs. Weasley is fussing over her husband, who's standing quite cheerfully in a pair of striped pajamas covered by a mackintosh.

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, and I all greet and talk to Mr. Weasley happily, until Mrs. Weasley insists to go down to the kitchen, where she'll make dinner. We walk down the stairs to the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley opens the door, and we burst through, Mr. Weasley walking proudly among us.

"Cured!" he announces to the kitchen at large. "Completely cured!"

Then we all take in the scene in the kitchen. Sirius and Snape are frozen, staring at the door with their wands pointed at each other's faces, and Harry is immobile between them, a hand stretched out to each, clearly trying to force them apart and stop the fight that was apparently just about to break out.

 _Talk about good timing,_ I think.

"Merlin's beard," Mr. Weasley says, the smile sliding off his face, "what's going on in here?"

Both Sirius and Snape lower their wands. Each of them wears an expression of the utmost contempt, but clearly the presence of the Weasleys, Hermione, and I have brought them to their senses. Snape pockets his wand, turns on his heel, and sweeps back across the kitchen, passing the Weasleys, Hermione, and I without comment. At the door, he looks back at Harry.

"Six o'clock, Monday evening, Potter."

With that, he leaves. Sirius glares after him, his wand at his side, still clutched tightly in his hand.

"What's been going on?" Mr. Weasley asks again.

"Nothing, Arthur," replies Sirius, who is breathing heavily as though he has just ran long distance. "Just a friendly little chat between two old school friends." With what looks to be enormous effort, he smiles. "So... you're cured? That's great news, really great."

"Yes, isn't it?" Mrs. Weasley agrees, leading her husband forward to a chair. "Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling with Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?" she adds, rather menacingly.

"Yes, Molly, dear," Mr. Weasley answers meekly.

That night's meal is a cheerful one, with Mr. Weasley's return. It seems Sirius is trying particularly hard to make it so, laughing loudly at Fred and George's jokes and continuously offering everyone food, but when he is not socialising and trying to make the meal enjoyable, his face falls back into a brooding, moody expression that makes me wonder what had happened in the kitchen with Snape and Harry.

Harry takes my mind off Sirius when he informs me that Snape will be teaching Harry Occlumency - how to block Voldemort and the nightmares he brings to Harry out. A wave of relief rushes over me when he does; my fear of Harry's ability to see into Voldemort's mind becoming stronger had grown bigger, and I was starting to wonder if there was anything that could be done.

"Dumbledore wants you to stop having those dreams about Voldemort," Hermione says at once. "Well, you won't be sorry not to have them anymore, will you?"

"Extra lessons with Snape?" Ron says, looking aghast. "I'd rather have the nightmares!"

 

***

 

The next morning, when Hermione wakes me up, after I'm passed the groggy stage of not understanding what's going on, I think about how much worse the Quidditch team has gotten and Umbridge and how she will no doubt have countless more Educational Decrees up her sleeve for the rest of the term, and for the first time of my life, really do not want to go back to Hogwarts. It's a mark of the seriousness of the situation that I actually seriously consider just staying at Grimmauld Place.

"Do I have to go?" I grumble.

"Yes, you do," Hermione says severely. "So get up and get dressed."

I do not get up and get dressed. Maybe I would, if it wasn't for the fact that my bed is so comfortable and warm and the stresses and troubles at Hogwarts are the exact opposite.

"Hazel, c'mon," Hermione groans, and when I let out a groan in reply, she makes a noise of frustration before moving away.

Feeling satisfied with myself, I pull the blankets higher over myself, turning over and allowing myself to get comfortable again. I don't have time to drift off to sleep again, however, when I hear footsteps again. Two sets of them, actually. Figuring it'll just be Ginny, I shrug it off.

"She won't get up," says Hermione's voice. "She's usually not this bad, I don't know what's gotten into her."

One set of footsteps approach my bed, and when someone starts shaking me gently, I resist the urge to let out a noise of protest. Instead, I turn over to face whoever it is.

"Hermione, just give me five-" I begin, but then I open my eyes and see that it's not Hermione. Instead, it's Fred staring back at me, looking a little tired but more amused than anything, kneeling so that our faces are level. I prop myself up on my elbows, rubbing my eyes blearily and looking at him in confusion. "Fred? What are you doing here?"

"Waking you up, since you refuse to do it yourself," he replies, grinning. "So, come on, get up. Back to Hogwarts-"

"Where Umbridge is? Not exactly a selling point," I say, smiling faintly.

"But I'll be there," he points out cheekily.

"Is that supposed to convince me to go? Because it's not working," I tease.

"Why must you continue to hurt me like this?" he says jokingly. "See, now you have to get up, just to make it up to me."

"Is that so?" I say, eyebrows raised slightly. "If that's the case, I suppose I could reconsider..."

"Good, because it'll be - erm - interesting," he informs me.

"'Interesting' is a word for it," I say, snorting. "'Hell' could be another."

Fred laughs.

"Yeah, but hell's always fun when I'm there," he states.

"Oh, you've been before?" I say, now grinning and sitting up straighter.

"Of course. Go there all the time," he replies.

"Really? Well, I think you'll have to take me to hell with you," I remark.

"I'd be glad to," he grins. "But you'll have to get up for me to be able to take you..."

"Alright, we've got a deal," I say, holding out a hand for him to shake.

"Brilliant," he says, shaking my hand.

He stops shaking my hand, but doesn't let go of it. Instead, he opts to pull me closer. Before our lips can touch, however, I cover my mouth with my free hand, also successfully hiding the smile on my face.

"Nope, sorry," I say, shaking my head. "Morning breath, won't be pleasant. I'm doing you a favour, when you think about it."

"Oh, well, go on, then, because I'd still quite like to kiss you," he says, standing back up.

Grinning, I get up out of bed, promptly kick him out, and start to get ready. Once I'm finished getting dressed and checking my trunk for anything I might have forgotten, I turn to Hermione, who's looking at the door that Fred had disappeared through in disbelief.

"How does he do that?" she says. "How  _does_ he do that? He hardly even has to try!"

"Believe me, Hermione, I ask myself that everyday," I assure her.

When she, Ron, Harry, and I go down to breakfast, Remus and Tonks, who are escorting us back to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus, and the other adults in the room seem to have been midway through a whispered conversation as Harry opens the door; all of them look around hastily and fall silent.

After a hurried breakfast, we all pull on jackets and scarves against the chilly grey January morning. Mrs. Weasley hugs us all and Mr. Weasley shakes our hands, jokingly telling Harry to keep an eye on any snakes for him. We can hardly get in our own goodbyes before we're chivied down the steps of number twelve into the icy winter air by Remus and Tonks (who's heavily disguised as a tall, tweedy woman with iron-grey hair).

The door of number twelve slams shut behind us, as Remus leads the way down the steps. As we reach the pavement, I look around. Number twelve is shrinking rapidly as those on either side of it stretch sideways, squeezing it out of sight. One blink later, it has disappeared.

"Come on, the quicker we get on the bus, the better," Tonks says, and I note that there's nervousness in the glance she throws around the square. Lupin flings out his arm.

With a bang, the violently purple, triple-decker bus appears in front of us, narrowly avoiding the nearest lamppost, which jumps backwards out of its way.

The thin, pimply, jug-eared boy that I now recognise as Stan Shunpike, leaps down onto the pavement and says, "Welcome to the-"

"Yes, yes, we know, thank you," Tonks says swiftly. "On, on, get on-"

She shoves Harry forwards towards the steps, past the conductor, who goggles at Harry as he passes.

"Ern - it's 'Arry-!"

"If you shout his name, I will curse you into oblivion," Tonks warns menacingly, now shunting Hermione and Ginny forwards.

"I've always wanted to go on this thing," Ron comments happily, as he and I join the others on board and look around.

"We'll see how eager you are in a few minutes," I say to him.

"Looks like we'll have to split up," Tonks comments briskly, looking around for empty chairs. "Fred, George, Ginny, if you can take those chairs at the back... Remus can stay with you."

She, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I proceed up to the very top deck, where there are two empty seats at the front and three at the back. Stan follows Harry, Ron, and I eagerly to the back. As we each hand him eleven Sickles, the bus sets off again, swaying ominously. It rumbles around Grimmauld Place, weaving on and off the pavement, then with another tremendous bang, we're all flung backwards. Ron's chair topples right over, and Pigwidgeon, who had been on his lap, bursts out of his cage and flew up to the front of the bus, resting on Hermione's shoulder, twittering madly all the while. After picking myself up, I look out the window and see that we're speeding down what appears to be a motorway.

"Just outside Birmingham," Stan informs us happily. "You keepin' well, then, 'Arry? I seen your name in the paper loads over the summer, but it weren't never nuffink very nice. I said to Ern, 'e didn't seem like a nutter when we met 'im, just goes to show, dunnit?"

He hands over our tickets and continues to gaze, enthralled, at Harry. Clearly, Stan does not care how nutty someone is supposed to be, if they're important enough to be in the paper. The Knight Bus sways alarmingly, overtaking a line of cars on the inside. He looks over at me, and a look of recognition crosses his face.

"I remember you! You were on 'ere twice before, weren't you? You know 'im? Friends, are you?" he says.

I glance over at Harry, before turning back to Stan and saying, a touch of dryness in my voice, "Small world."

With another loud bang, the chairs slide backwards again as the Knight Bus jumps from the Birmingham motorway to a quiet country lane full of hairpin bends. Hedgerows on either side of the road are leaping out of the way as we mount the verges. From here we move to a main street in the middle of a busy town, then to a viaduct surrounded by tall hills, then a wind-swept road surrounded by high flats, each time with a loud bang.

"I've changed my mind," Ron groans, picking himself up for the sixth time, "I never want to ride on this thing again."

"And now you've learned," I say, determinedly looking away from the window to avoid getting sick.

"Listen, it's 'Ogwarts stop after this," Stan informs us brightly, swaying towards us. "That bossy woman up front 'oo got on with you, she's given us a little tip to move you up the queue. We're just gonna let Madam Marsh off first, though-" there's a retching sound from upstairs, followed by a horrible splattering noise - "she's not feeling 'er best."

A few minutes later, the Knight Bus screeches to a halt outside a small pub, which squeezes itself out of the way to avoid a collision. We can hear Stan ushering the unfortunate Madam Marsh off the bus and the relieved muttering of her fellow passengers on the second deck.

The bus moves on again, gathering speed, and I try very hard not to end up like Madam Marsh, until, with a bang, I look out the window to find us rolling through Hogsmeade. I catch sight of the Hog's Head, the severed boar head's sign creaking in the wintry wind. Flecks of snow hits the large window at the front of the bus. At last we roll to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts, and I allow myself to feel relieved.

Remus and Tonks help us off the bus with our trunks, then get off to say goodbye. I glance up at the three decks of the Knight Bus and notice that all the passengers are staring down at us, their noses pressed against the glass.

"You'll be safe once you're on the grounds," Tonks says, casting a careful eye around the deserted road. "Have a good term, okay?"

"Look after yourselves," Remus says, shaking hands all around and giving me a quick hug, before pulling Harry slightly aside and lowering his voice.

I glance at them curiously, before turning to Tonks to say goodbye to her. Once we're finished saying our goodbyes, the seven of us struggle up the slippery drive towards the castle, dragging our trunks with us. Hermione, to my disbelief, is already talking about knitting a few hats for the house-elves before bed. It's incredible to see someone already so eager to get back into business, when I'm so tired that I can't think about anything but going to bed, forget anything that comes before it.

 

***

 

The next day, several DA members come up to Harry, asking if there will be a meeting tonight, which I imagine lowers his mood, which already probably isn't the highest, considering the stress of the Occlumency lessons that he will have to endure tonight.

"I'll let you know in the usual way when the next one is," Harry keeps saying, "but I can't do it tonight, I've got to go to - er - remedial Potions."

"You take remedial Potions?" Zacharias Smith says in disbelief, having cornered Harry in the Entrance Hall after lunch. "Good Lord, you must be terrible. Snape doesn't usually give out extra lessons, does he?"

As Smith strides away from us in an annoyingly bouyant fashion, Ron glares after him.

"Shall I jinx him? I can still get him from here," he says, raising his wand and taking aim between Smith's shoulder blades.

"Forget it," Harry says dismally. "It's what everyone's going to think, isn't it? That I'm really stup-"

"Hi, Harry," a voice behind us says. We turn to find Cho standing there.

"Oh," Harry says, suddenly looking nervous, "hi."

I look from Cho to Harry, before firmly saying, "We'll be in the library."

I seize Ron's arm, as he doesn't look like he had any intention of leaving, and drag him off towards the marble staircase, Hermione walking with us. When Harry returns to us just before class starts, he looks so happy that I hardly need him to tell us that he had successfully asked Cho out on a date.

When Harry goes to Snape's office after dinner for his first Occlumency lesson, Ron, Hermione, and I inform him that we will be, once again, in the library when he is finished. He nods, and we wish him good luck when he grimly bids us goodbye.

The sky is growing steadily blacker and Ron, Hermione and I are working on Umbridge's newest ream of homework when Harry sits opposite us, looking pale.

"How did it go?" Hermione whispers, and then adds, concerned, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah... fine... I don't know..." Harry replies, and that is not a very assuring reply, but before I can say anything about it, Harry goes on. "Listen... I've just realized something..."

He tells us about how during the Occlumency lesson, he had seen the windowless corridor he had been dreaming about for months now, and he has realized that it's the corridor to the Department of Mysteries and it's where Mr. Weasley had been the ight he was attacked by the snake.

"So... so are you saying," Ron whispers, as Madam Pince walks past, squeaking slightly, "that the weapon - the thing You-Know-Who's after - is in the Ministry of Magic?"

"In the Department of Mysteries, it has to be," Harry replies, whispering as well. "I saw that door when your dad took me down to the courtrooms for my hearing and it was definitely the same one he was guarding when the snake bit him."

Hermione lets out a long, low sigh.

"Of course," she breathes.

"Of course what?" Ron asks, rather impatiently.

"Ron, think about it... Sturgis Podmore was trying to get through a door at the Ministry of Magic... it must have been that one, it's too much of a coincidence!"

"How come Sturgis was trying to break in when he's on our side?" says Ron.

"Well, I don't know," Hermione admits. "That is a bit odd..."

"So, what is in the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asks Ron. "Has your dad ever said anything about it?"

"I know people who work in there are called 'Unspeakables'," Ron answers, frowning, "because no one seems to really know what they do - weird place to have a weapon."

I shake my head, thinking over what has been said carefully.

"It's not weird at all, it's the perfect place to hide a weapon, especially if the Department is as mysterious as the title suggests," I state. "I suppose it'll be something top secret that the Ministry's been developing... Harry, are you sure you're alright?" I add, noticing that he still looks pale and rather ill, and that his hands are trembling.

"Yeah, fine," Harry replies, lowering his hands. "I just feel a bit... I don't like Occlumency much."

"I expect anyone would feel shaky if their mind had been attacked over and over again," Hermione says sympathetically. "Look, let's go back to the common room, we'll be a bit more comfortable there."

But the common room is packed and full of shrieks of laughter and excitement, for Fred and George are demonstrating their latest bit of merchandise for their joke shop.

"Headless Hats!" George shouts, as Fred waves a pointed hat decorated with a fluffy pink feather at the watching students. "Two Galleons each, watch Fred, now!"

Fred sweeps the hat onto his head, beaming. For one second he simply looks rather stupid, and if I didn't know any better, I wouldn't thought that the point of the hat is to trick your friends into believing it will make your head look invisible, when it will actually just make you look like an idiot; but then both head and hat disappears. Several girls scream, but everyone else is roaring with laughter.

"And off again!" George yells, and Fred's hand gropes for a moment at what seems to be thin air over his shoulder, then his head reappears as he sweeps the pink-feathered hat from it.

"How do those hats work, then?" Hermione wonders aloud, distracted from her homework as she watches Fred and George. "I mean, obviously it's some sort of Invisibility Spell, but it's rather clever to have extended the field of invisibility beyond the boundaries of the charmed object... I'd imagine the Charm wouldn't have a very long life, though."

I smile slightly at this, because this might be the biggest praise Hermione has given Fred and George when it comes to their antics.

"I'm going to do this tomorrow," Harry announces, shoving the books he had just taken out of his bag back in it.

"Well, write it in your homework planner, then," Hermione says encouragingly, "so you don't forget it!" Harry takes the planner out of his bad and opens it tentatively.

"Don't leave it 'til later, you big second-rater!" the book chides as Harry scribbles down Umbridge's homework. I raise my eyebrows slightly, but Hermione beams at it.

"I think I'll go to bed," he says, stuffing the homework planner back in his bag and getting up, walking over to the boys' dormitories and disappearing through the door.

"Occlumency really hasn't treated him well," I comment. "But then again, something like this is bound to be difficult... suppose it'll get easier with time, won't it? Well, not easier, just more bearable."

"It'll have to," Hermione agrees, looking at the door to the boys' dormitories thoughtfully. "How can Harry keep Voldemort out of his mind at all times if he gets so sick every time?"

We can't say anything else, because Fred and George appear in front of us, George holding one of the Headless Hats.

"You want to try it on, then, Knight?" he asks of me.

"Oh, alright, then," I say, cracking a smile and holding out my hands to take the hat.

He hands it to me, and I put it on. After a moment, Fred and George beam wider and Ron and Hermione get expressions of slight awe, indicating my head is now invisible.

"It's so...  _weird_ ," Ron says breathlessly.

To freak him out more, I touch my face, since it's bound to look odd when it looks like I'm grabbing at thin air. I laugh at the expression on his face, pulling the hat off my head and handing it back to George. Ron has a go with the hat, laughing when his head turns invisible. Even Hermione tries it on briefly, but also asks Fred and George about the magic behind it immediately afterwards.

Shortly after this, we all decide to go to bed. It doesn't take long to fall asleep once I collapse onto bed, thinking dully of Harry and Occlumency and classes and homework and Quidditch practice the next day, and wondering vaguely if there would be some way to get out of the latter three using Headless hats.


	36. Valentine's Day

**Ours**

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Valentine's Day**

 

The next morning, when Hermione's subscription of the  _Daily Prophet_ arrived, she smooths it out, gazes at it for a moment, then lets out a yelp that makes everyone in the vicinity stare at her.

"What?" Harry, Ron, and I say together.

As an answer, she spreads the paper on the table in front of us and points at the ten black-and-white photographs that fill the whole of the front page, nine showing the faces of wizards and the tenth showing the face of a witch. Some of the people in the photographs are silently jeering, others tapping the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. Each picture is captioned with a name and the reason they were sent to Azkaban.

Antonin Dolohov, reads the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who's sneering up at me, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

Algernon Rookwood, the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who is leaning against the edge of his picture, looking more bored than anything, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic secrets to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

My eyes, however, are drawn to the witch. She has long, dark hair that looks unkempt and straggly in the picture, but I've seen it sleep and shining before, in Kreacher's cupboard. She glares up at me through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. She retains vestiges of great good looks, but something - perhaps Azkaban - has taken away most of her beauty.

Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

I tear my eyes away from the woman and focus on the article.

_MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN_

_MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS 'RALLYING POINT' FOR OLD DEATH EATERS_

"Black?" Harry says loudly. "Not-?"

"Shhh!" Hermione says desperately. "Not so loud - just read it!"

I exchange apprehensive looks with Harry, before looking back down and beginning to read the article.

_The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban. Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius fudge, Minister for Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these criminals._

_"We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped," said Fudge last night. "Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person to ever breakout of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all that we can to round up the criminals, and we beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached."_

"There you are, Harry," says Ron, looking awestruck. "That's why You-Know-Who was happy last night."

As soon as he had seen us this morning, Harry had told Hermione and I about how he had been able to feel what Voldemort was feeling, and he had felt that Voldemort was happier than he had been in fourteen years.

"I don't believe this," Harry snarls. "Fudge is blaming the breakout on Sirius?"

"What choice does he have?" I say bitterly. "He can hardly say 'Sorry, everyone, Dumbledore warned me this would happen, but I was too stupid to listen, the Dementors have joined Lord Voldemort' - oh, come on, stop whimpering, Ron - 'and now his most loyal and dangerous followers have broken out to join him.' I mean, for six months he's been putting all this time and energy into convincing everyone that you and Dumbledore are delusional liars, so he'd look like a right idiot if he admitted he'd been wrong, and that's what he was trying to avoid looking like with making you and Dumbledore look bad."

Hermione lets out an angry sort of noise, rips the paper open, and reads the report inside. As she does this, I look up and down the Gryffindor table. It's very strange to see that very people look scared or are discussing the terrible piece of news on the front page, but then again, very few people take the news everyday like Hermione. Regardless, it's unbelievable to think that they're talking about Quidditch and other useless things, when outside the castle walls ten more Death Eaters have swollen Voldemort's ranks.

I look up at the staff table, and it's a very different story there; Dumbledore and McGonagall are deep in conversation, both looking extremely grave; Professor Sprout has the  _Prophet_ propped up against a bottle of ketchup and is reading it with such concentration that she doesn't seem to notice the gentle drip of egg yolk falling onto her lap from her stationary spoon; meanwhile, at the very far end of the table, Umbridge is tucking into a bowl of porridge. For once, her toad-like eyes are not sweeping up and down the Great Hall, scouting for misbehaving students. Instead, she's scowling as she gulps down her food, occasionally shooting a malevolent glance up the table, where McGonagall and Dumbledore are talking so intently.

"Oh my-" Hermione suddenly says, still staring at the paper.

"What not?" Harry asks, as I whip around to look at her.

"It's... horrible," Hermione replies, looking shaken.

She folds back page ten of the newspaper and hands it to Harry, Ron, and I.

_TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKER_

_St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker, Broderich Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a pot plant. Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr. Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident several weeks prior to his death._

_Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr. Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment y_ _esterday, but a spokesperson for the hospital said in a statement:_

_"St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr. Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident._

_"We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted in our wards but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr. Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr. Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare, which, when touched by the convalescent Mr. Bode, throttled him instantly._

_"St. Mungo's is not yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward."_

"Bode..." Ron says thoughtfully. "It rings a bell..."

"We saw him," Hermione whispers. "In St. Mungo's, remember? He was in the bed opposite Lockhart, just lying there, staring at the ceiling. And we saw the Devil's Snare arrive. She - the Healer - said it was a Christmas present."

I look back at the article. A horrified feeling is rising like bile up my throat.

"How come we didn't recognise the Devil's Snare? We've seen it before... we could've stopped this from happening," Harry says, looking as horrified as I feel.

"Who expects Devil's Snare to turn up in a hospital disguised as a pot plant?" Ron says sharply. "It's not our fault, whoever sent it to the bloke is to blame They must be a real prat, why didn't they check what they were buying?"

"I'm sure they did check what they were buying," I say bitterly, looking up at Ron and still feeling horrified. "I doubt someone could've put Devil's Snare in a pot and not realise that it tried to kill whoever touches it. This - this was murder... and very clever murder, as well... if the plant was sent anonymously, how's anyone ever going to find out who did it?"

"I met Bode," Harry says slowly. "I saw him at the Ministry with your dad."

Ron's mouth falls open.

"I've heard Dad talk about him at home! He was an Unspeakable - he worked in the Department of Mysteries!"

We all look at each other for a moment, as this revelation registers in our mind, then Hermione pulls the newspaper back towards her, closes it, glares at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters, then leaps to her feet.

"Where are you going?" asks Ron, startled.

"To send a letter," Hermione replies, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "It... well, I don't know whether... but it's worth trying... and I'm the only one who can..."

With that, she dashes out of the Great Hall.

"I hate it when she does that," Ron grumbles, as he, Harry, and I get up from the table and make our own, slower departure from the Great Hall. "Would it kill her to tell us what she's up to for once? It'd take her about ten more seconds - hey, Hagrid!"

Hagrid is standing by the doors to the Entrance Hall, waiting for a crowd of Ravenclaws to pass. He's still as heavily bruised as he was the day he returned, and there's a new cut across the bridge of his nose.

"Alrigh', yeh three?" he says, trying to muster a smile but only managing a pained sort of grimace.

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" Harry asks, as we follow him as he lumbers after the Ravenclaws.

"Fine, fine," Hagrid replies, with a feeble assumption of airiness; he waves a hand and narrowly misses concussing a frightened-looking Professor Vector, who is passing. "Jus' busy, yeh know, the usual stuff - lesson ter prepare - couple o' salamanders got scale rot - an' I'm on probation," he mumbles.

"You're on probation?" Ron repeats very loudly, so that many passing students look around curiously. When I step on his feet, he quickly says, "Sorry - I mean - you're on probation?" he whispers, and for Hagrid's sake, I don't roll my eyes.

"Yeah," Hagrid confirms. "S'no more'n I expected, ter tell yeh the truth. Yeh migh' not've picked up on it, bu' tha' inspection didn' go too well, yeh know... anyway," Hagrid sighs deeply. "Bes' go an' rub a bit more chilli powder on them salamanders or their tails'll be hangin' off 'em next. See yeh, Harry... Ron... Hazel..."

He trudges away, out the front doors and down the stone steps into the damp grounds. I watch him as he goes, wondering just how much bad news I can take.

 

**

 

The fact that Hagrid is on probation soon becomes common knowledge throughout the castle, but to my indignation, hardly anybody is upset about it; in fact, some people, Draco Malfoy among them, seem to be positively gleeful. As for the freakish death of an obscure Unspeakable at St. Mungo's, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I seem to be the only people who know or care. There's only one topic of conversation in the corridors now: the ten escaped Death Eaters, for the news has finally filtered through the school from the few people who do receive the  _Daily Prophet_. Rumours are flying that some of the convicts had been spotted in Hogsmeade, that they were supposed to be hiding out in the Shrieking Shack, and that they're going to break into Hogwarts, just as Sirius Black had done.

Those who come from wizarding families had grown up hearing the names of these Death Eaters being spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemort's; the crimes they had committed during Voldemort's reign of terror were legendary. There were relatives of their victims among the students, who now find themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walk down the corridors: Susan Bone, whose aunt, uncle, and cousins had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now has an idea of what it's like to be Harry.

"And I don't know how you stand it - it's horrible," she says bluntly, pouring far too much dragon manure on her tray of Screechsnap seedlings, causing them to wriggle and squeak in discomfort.

It's true that Harry is the subject to renewed muttering and pointing in the corridors these days, though I think the tone of their voices has changed. They sound more curious than hostile now, and once or twice I'm sure I hear snatches of conversation that suggest that the speakers are no satisfied with the  _Daily Prophet's_ explanation of how the ten Death Eaters had managed to escape Azkaban. In their fear and confusion, several people seem to be turning to the only other explanation left: the one Harry and Dumbledore had been giving since June.

It's not only the mood of the students that's changed; it's now quite common to see two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off whatever conversations they're having the moment they see students approaching.

"They obviously can't talk freely in the staff room anymore," Hermione says in a low voice as she, Harry, Ron, and I walk past Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout huddled together outside the Charms classroom one day.

"Reckon they know anything new?" Ron says, looking back over his shoulder at the three professors.

"If they do, we're not going to hear about it, are we?" Harry says angrily. "Not after Decree... what number are we on now?"

For new notices had appeared on the house noticeboards the morning after the Azkaban breakout:

_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

_Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information_

_that is not strictly related to the subject that they are paid to teach._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree_

_Number Twenty-Six._

_Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

This decree is treated as something of a joke to the students, because it's all too easy to turn it against Umbridge. Fred and George tell me about how Lee had pointed out to Umbridge that, by the terms of the new Decree, she was  _technically_ not allowed to tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snap at the back of the class.

"Exploding Snap's got nothing to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor! That's not information relating to your subject!"

The next time I see Lee, his hand is bleeding rather badly. I give him a bit of Essence of Murtlap from Hermione and think of just how much I hate Umbridge while I talk to him as he soaks his hand in it.

I had thought beforehand that the Azkaban breakout might had humbled Umbridge a little, that she might have been a little abashed at the terrible event that had occurred right under the nose of her beloved Fudge. And I couldn't have been more wrong. The breakout has only intensified her furious desire to bring every aspect of Hogwarts under her personal control. She seems determined to at least achieve a sacking before long, and the question is not whether she will be able to manage it, because she certainly will, but whether it will be Trelawney of Hagrid first.

Every single Divination and Care of Magical Creatures lesson is accompanied by Umbridge and her clipboard. She lurks by the fire in the heavily perfumed tower room, interrupting Professor Trelawney's increasingly hysterical talks (really, her lessons would be funny if it weren't for the circumstances) with extremely difficult questions about ornithomancy and heptomology, insisting that she predicted the students' answers before she gave them (I've started to feel so bad for her that I pretend that whatever she said was what I was going to say) and demanding that she demonstrate her skill at the crystal ball, the tea leaves, and the rune stones in turn. I'm starting to think that Trelawney is beginning to crack under the strain. Several times I pass her in the corridors - which is already strange enough, since she rarely leaves her tower - muttering wildly to herself, wringing her hands and shooting terrified glances over her shoulder, all the while giving off a very strong smell of cooking sherry. In spite of the fact that I hardly view her in a flattering way, I do feel quite sorry for her, but my sympathies are limited, since I'm too busy being worried and sorry for Hagrid, and if one of them is going to get sacked, I know the one teacher that I want to remain.

The sad part about this is that Hagrid doesn't seem to be putting on much of a better show than Trelawney. Though he finally seems to be following the advice of Hermione and I and isn't showing us anything more frightening than a Crup - a creature indistinguishable from a Jack Russell Terrier except for its forked tail - since before Christmas, he seems to have lost his nerve. He's oddly distracted and jumpy during lessons, losing thread of what he was going to say to the class, answering questions incorrectly, and all the time glancing nervously towards Umbridge. He is also becoming more distant with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, and had expressly forbade us from visiting him after dark.

"If she catches yeh, it'll be all our necks on the line," he tells us flatly, and not wanting to jeopardise his job further, we refrain from visiting Hagrid in the evenings.

Everything that Umbridge is doing to the school angers me so greatly that I rebel in the only two ways I know how. The first is through pranking and generally wreaking havoc in the school with Fred, George, and Lee. It's odd, I didn't prank much throughout this term (less than usual, anyway) because with all the homework that I've been receiving and the large amount of long Quidditch practices that Angelina schedules, I just figured I was too busy to fit it in, but Umbridge makes me so angry that I end up finding time that I did not even know I had. Of course, I end up staying up later to complete all my homework, but whatever prank we had pulled always makes Umbridge so angry and we hardly ever get caught, so the loss of sleep isn't too much of a big deal for me.

The second way is through trying harder in the DA, doing the thing that she wants students in this school to do least: learn how to fight and defend themselves. I'm not the only one who does this; everyone, even Zacharias Smith, is determined to work harder than ever with the news of ten Death Eaters on the loose, but nobody has improved more than Neville. The news of his parents' attacker's escape has brought a strange and slightly alarming change in him. He has not once mentioned his meeting with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I in St. Mungo's, and we decide to follow his lead and keep quiet about it. Nor has he said anything about Bellatrix and her fellow Death Eater's escape. In fact, he rarely talks at all during the DA meetings at this point, working relentlessly on whatever jinx and counter-curse Harry teaches us, his plump face screwed up in concentration, apparently indifferent to injuries and accidents and working harder than anyone else in the room by far. When Harry teaches us the Shield Charm, Hermione is the only one who learns it quicker than Neville. Before, whenever we'd practice spells on each other, occasionally I'd go a bit easy on him, but I'm certainly not doing that now. Our practising has turned into something close to duelling, and though I'll still win most of the time, the wins to losses ratio for him has started to go up considerably in his favour.

Harry, it seems, is not improving in Occlumency the way Neville is improving in the DA meetings. One day, he confides in Ron, Hermione, and I that his scar, which only prickled occasionally, is almost always prickling, he feels lurches of annoyance and happiness that is completely unrelated with what's happening around him, and that he is having dreams of walking down the corridor to the door of the Department of Mysteries almost every night, the dreams always ending in him staring at the door, longing to get inside.

"Maybe it's like an illness," Hermione suggests after he tells us, looking at him with concern. "A fever or something. Maybe it has to get worse before it gets better."

"The lessons with Snape are making it worse," Harry insists flatly. "I'm getting sick of my scar hurting and getting bored of walking down that corridor every night." He rubs his forehead angrily. "I just wish the door would open, I'm sick of standing here staring at it-"

"That's not funny," Hermione says sharply. "Dumbledore doesn't want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn't have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You're just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons."

"I am working!" Harry protests, looking annoyed. "You try it some time - Snape, trying to get inside your head - it's not a bundle of laughs, you know!"

"Maybe..." Ron says slowly.

"Maybe what?" Hermione says, rather snappishly.

"Maybe it's not Harry's fault he can't close his mind," he says darkly.

"What do you mean?" I ask suspiciously, watching him closely, though I think I have an idea of what he means.

"Well, maybe Snape isn't really trying to help Harry..."

Harry, Hermione, and I stare at him. Ron looks darkly and meaningfully at each of us in turn.

"Maybe," he continues, in a lower voice, "he's actually trying to open Harry's mind a bit wider... make it easier for You-Know-"

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione says angrily. "How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough."

"He used to be a Death Eater," Ron argues stubbornly. "And we've never really seen proof that he's swapped sides."

I, however, shake my head.

"Dumbledore trusts him," I point out, "and if we can't trust Dumbledore, then we're all fucked, because then we can't trust anyone."

Hermione beams at me.

 

**

 

With so much to worry about and so much to do - with startling amounts of homework that keep the fifth years working until past midnight, secret DA sessions, almost daily Quidditch practices, and small acts of rebellion against Umbridge with Fred, George, and Lee - January seems to be passing by at an alarming rate, and before I know it, February arrives, bringing warmer and wetter weather, and the prospect of the second Hogsmeade trip of the year, something that I'm extremely excited about - until Angelina informs us after one practice that she has scheduled a day long practice that day.

The evening Angelina informs us of this practice, I walk down the corridors, heading back to the common room, feeling tired and irritated and not wanting to write that Potions essay that I knew I had to write, when I run into Fred.

"You look happy," he says, as a greeting.

"You look annoying," I retort, too upset and tired to think of a proper reply.

"How does one look annoying, Knight?" he asks, not looking concerned at my statement and putting an arm around my shoulders.

"I don't know, but you manage it, Weasley," I reply.

"Such a terrible thing to say," he says jokingly, "especially with Valentine's Day coming up... speaking of Valentine's Day... you know, it's on the day of the Hogsmeade trip..."

"Indeed, I do know," I confirm, not wanting to talk about Hogsmeade at all.

"Well..." he says, "what would you say to going to Hogsmeade with me that day?"

My heart sinks right down to the region of my stomach. Nothing sounds more appealing to me than walking down the streets of Hogsmeade with Fred - on Valentine's Day, of all days - so of course that has to have been made impossible.

"Oh, I'd really like to," I begin, sighing, and feeling slightly heartbroken at the pleased look on his face, I add, "but I can't."

His smile disappears, replaced by a frown.

"Why not?" he asks.

"Angelina's got a Quidditch practice scheduled all day that day," I reply, giving a slight sigh.

"Just skip, then," he says, shrugging.

I laugh at this.

"If I skipped a Quidditch practice that Angelina had scheduled, you'd have to dig me up from the ground in order to find me again," I state.

"Fair enough," he says.

Noticing the disappointed look on his face, I quickly add, "But we can do something after, though."

"Like what?"

"Like... I don't know, whatever we would do at Hogsmeade. Just, you know, not at Hogsmeade."

He grins slightly.

"Well, I don't know..." he says, pretending to be thoughtful, "I'll have to see if I have room in my schedule..."

"Hey!" I say, nudging him and grinning.

He lets out a laugh at my actions.

"Ah, come on, you know I'd love to, Knight," he says, pulling me closer to him and kissing my forehead.

So when I wake up on the morning of February the fourteenth, the thing I'm most excited for, in spite of my love for Quidditch and flying, is not the practice today, but seeing Fred later on. When Hermione and I go to breakfast, it's not long until a brown owl lands in front of her, carrying not the  _Daily Prophet_ , but a letter. I know that it's probably from Rita Skeeter, since the letter Hermione had sent the day the news of the Azkaban breakout had gone out was to her, asking her to write a letter on Harry's side of the story of all that's happened with Voldemort - but not for the  _Daily Prophet,_ but _The Quibbler_.

"And about time! If it hadn't come today..." she said eagerly, tearing open the envelope and pulling out a small piece of parchment, just as Harry and Ron sit down across from us. Her eyes speed from left to right as she reads through the message, and a grimly pleased expression crosses her face.

"Listen, Harry," she says, looking up at him, "this is really important. Do you think you could meet me in the Three Broomsticks around midday?"

"Well... I dunno," Harry replies uncertainly. "Cho might be expecting me to spend the whole day with her. We never said what we're going to do."

"Well, bring her along with you, if you must," Hermione says urgently, "but will you come?"

"Well... alright, but why?"

"I haven't got time to tell you now, I've got to answer this quickly," she replies.

And she hurries out of the Great Hall, the letter clutched in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.

"Are you coming?" Harry asks Ron and I. We both shake our heads glumly.

"We can't go to Hogsmeade at all; Angelina wants a full day's training. Like it's going to help, we're the worst team I've ever seen. You should see Sloper and Kirke, they're pathetic, even worse than I am." He heaves a great sigh. "I don't see why Angelina won't just let me resign."

"It's because you're good when you're on form, that's why," Harry says irritably, echoing the words I say every time Ron gets like this after practice.

I imagine it's very hard for Harry to be sympathetic to Ron, when he's been banned from playing Quidditch ever again. Ron seems to notice Harry's tone, because he doesn't bring up Quidditch throughout breakfast again, and there's a slight frostiness in the way they say goodbye to each other afterwards.

I look from Harry to Ron, roll my eyes slightly, turn to Harry, and say, nudging him slightly, "Bye, Harry. Good luck on your date."

"Shut up," he says, shoving me slightly, and I laugh, wave, and turn around, running to catch up with Ron as he heads out onto the grounds and to the Quidditch pitch.

The practice, as I had privately predicted, goes disastrously. It starts off terribly, with Sloper nearly knocking Angelina off her broom by flying into her, and it continues to get greadually worse, and Angelina is not merciful enough to just end it when she sees that it's going virtually nowhere.

"Come on, you guys, the game's next week, we've got to get this down! I'm sure we'll be fine if we just keep going for a while longer!" she yells, though there's no real conviction in her voice.

"Not when we're as hopeless as we are," I hear Ron mumble as I fly past him, and I can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. The fact that he thinks that the team is so useless after the loss of Harry, Fred, and George, but doesn't seem to want to do anything about it annoys me greatly, especially when I'm trying so hard to keep the morale up and encourage others to work harder and improve on certain areas.

As though the weather wants to make matters worse, it starts to rain heavily after a while, making visibility more difficult, even with the use of  _Impervius_. Not to mention, when the practice nears to an end, I glance down and notice two figures at the stands, watching us play. Upon closer inspection, I realise it's Fred and George. I glance over where Ron is, feeling rather nervous as to what might happen, but shrug it off. I don't have much to worry about, anyway, since the most that happens is that Fred loudly cries out, "She's not a Bludger!" when Kirke nearly hits me with his Beater's bat.

Angelina, looking as though she is on the verge of tears, finally lets up just as dinner is supposed to start and Fred and George are already gone. We all land back onto the ground, wet and muddy and disgruntled and hopeless, though I try to hide the last two emotions. After all, if I give up like everyone else seems to be doing, then what happens?

Deciding that we'll lose before the game next week can even start if Angelina has given up, I jog over to her, my boots squelching unpleasantly on the muddy field, and start walking with her.

"You know, I really think that we might have a chance," I state. When she looks at me disbelievingly, I correct myself. "Okay, well, I think if we work on some things we will..."

"We've been working on some things for ages, Hazel," Angelina points out, slightly tiredly.

"And we'll keep working on them until we get them right, won't we?" I say, a little forcefully. She's the captain, after all, she can't be talking like this. "We'll just keep practising really hard until the game next week. Everyday, if we must," I insist. "I know we've had the absolute worst luck in the world, but that Cup is still ours."

"Right," she says slowly, nodding. "Right."

Though she doesn't look as reassured as I'd like her to be. Sighing, I follow her into the changing rooms. We all change in silence, and when we're both finished, Ginny and I head back out into the rain, getting ourselves wet and covered in mud all over again.

"Shall we go to dinner, then?" I ask Ginny.

"Yes," she replies, "day long, horrible Quidditch practices really make me hungry, you know."

I let out a tiny laugh, and together we walk into the Great Hall, joining Harry, Hermione, and a disgruntled looking Ron at the Gryffindor table.

"I'm not saying what she did was sensible," Hermione's saying, "I'm just trying to make you see how she was feeling at the time."

It takes me a moment to realise that they're probably talking about Harry's date with Cho. Clearly, it didn't go too well. I make a mental note to ask him about it later.

"You should write a book," Ron states, cutting up his potatoes, "translating mad things girls do to make boys understand them better."

"Yeah," Harry agrees fervently, his eyes wandering over to the Ravenclaw table. I glance over to see that Cho has just got up, leaving the Great Hall without a single glance in Harry's direction. I look over, just as Harry looks at Ron, Ginny, and I. "So how was Quidditch practice?"

"It was a nightmare," Ron replies in a surly voice.

"Oh, come on," Hermione says, looking at Ginny and I, "I'm sure it wasn't that-"

"Yes, it was," Ginny interrupts. "It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it."

Ron, Ginny and I go for baths after dinner. I return to the Gryffindor common room immediately after, with too much homework to ignore, in spite of my bad mood. Besides, after all my homework is finished, I'll be able to be with Fred and do - well, whatever it is he has in store. I walk over to the table where Harry, Hermione, Fred, and George are sitting, throwing myself into an empty seat and pulling out my Ancient Runes translations and books.

"Hello," I say, taking out a quill and setting to work immediately.

"How was practice?" George asks innocently.

I look up from my work to look at them with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, don't act like you two weren't watching, you slick gits," I say, rolling my eyes.

"What gave us away?" Fred demands, sitting up straighter.

"It could be that I just know everything," I say jokingly, returning to my translations, "or it could be that you yelled out 'She's not a Bludger!' when Kirke nearly hit me in the head with his bat."

"I told you you shouldn't have done that," George says to his twin, before turning back to me. "So are we allowed to say that it was terrible?"

"I suppose so. You certainly wouldn't be wrong," I reply tiredly. I stare blankly at my translations for a long time, before letting out a noise of frustration, putting down my quill, and looking back up at them. "It's not even like we're hopeless, it's just that they  _think_ we are. They all seem to have just given up!"

"And you haven't?" Harry says.

"No," I say fiercely, "of course not. I know we're not hopeless, just unlucky. If we practised a bit harder, and they stopped thinking that we're never going to get any better, then we'll be just fine, even if we haven't got the best team in the world anymore."

"So you reckon you're going to win the match against Hufflepuff?" Fred says.

I give him a hard look, before letting out a sigh and looking away.

"Not really, no," I say. "The match is next week, and they're all ready to give up, remember? I'm just hoping we'll get lucky and Hufflepuff'll lose to Ravenclaw, then we'll have a shot again. But if I act as hopeless as the rest of them, then what happens?"

Sighing, I return to my Rune translations, putting the Quidditch conversation to a rather depressing end.

 

**

 

I work steadily on my homework until every bit of it is finished, even when Harry and Hermione go to bed and Fred and George go to work on more Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products with Lee, letting out a sigh and putting down my quill triumphantly when I finish. Leaning back in my seat and stretching, I look around the common room to find it deserted - except, that is, for Fred. He catches my eye, grins, and walks across the common room to me. I feel a slight thrill, excited at the prospect of spending more time with him.

"Well, it's about time," he states, sitting in the seat across from me. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever finish your bloody homework. You're really slow, aren't you?"

"Hey!" I protest, punching him lightly. "At least I do my homework at all."

"Is that supposed to insult me?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," I reply, "but then I remembered that all insults just bounce off of you."

"Not all insults," he points out, "just most of them."

"Can you make a list of all the one that don't?" I ask of him. "Just for future reference, you know."

"You know, I don't think I want to expose my insecurities in the form of a list," Fred says.

"Would you prefer to do it in essay form?" I suggest.

"I don't do essays, Knight, haven't you realised?" he says, grinning.

"Good point," I agree, "you haven't got the brains for it, have you, Weasley?"

"Oi! Do too!" he protests. I just laugh at that. "Oh, you think you're so cool, don't you, Knight?"

"Well, I wouldn't be  _wrong_ , would I?" I say innocently.

"I think we all know you would," Fred teases, grinning.

"Prove it, then," I say challengingly.

"How?"

"Figure it out," is all I say, standing up and taking a few steps across the common room.

He stares at me for a moment, before getting to his feet, and walking towards me until we're very close together. My breath catches in my throat slightly, and I stare up at him, all semblance of composure now gone and wanting nothing more than to kiss him. I lick my lips nervously, staring up at him.

"You - you - erm - I - um - we're - er -" I stutter, but then eventually trail off, completely forgetting what I was going to say.

"See? Not so cool now, are you, Knight?" he says.

"Not - not exactly," I agree, going up on tiptoe to kiss him, but he moves away slightly just as our lips are about to touch. I let out a tiny noise of frustration, moving to kiss him again, but he moves away a bit once more. "Are you doing this on purpose?" I demand.

"Yes," Fred replies, smirking, "I like seeing you all hot and bothered."

"Stupid tease," I grumble, grab the front of his robes, pull him to me, and kiss him.

He smiles as he kisses me back, and I move my hands to wrap them around his neck, as he wraps his arms around my waist. The kiss ends rather abruptly - and soon than I would've liked - when he suddenly lifts me off the ground, spinning me around, before carrying me over to the sofa, and placing me on it in a standing position.

"Was there a particular reason you did that?" I ask, putting my hands on my hips and looking, for once down at him, smiling.

"I like carrying you," he replies, shrugging.

"Well, I'll admit, it's nice being taller than you for once," I say, grinning cheekily. "What's it like down there?"

"Quite nice, since the view is you," he answers, grinning.

"You're ridiculous," I state, shaking my head and laughing.

"Only for you," he retorts, and, smiling in spite of myself, I take his hand, pull him closer to me, and kiss him, my hair swinging forward to cover our faces.

I let out a small gasp when he takes the back of my legs in each of his hands and wraps my legs around his waist. Still kissing me, he places me, lying down, on the sofa, before climbing on top of me, his hands wandering down to his stomach to tickle me. I pull away from him and laugh.

"Stop - stop that - Fred W-Weasley - I - I will - k-kill you!" I say, struggling to form coherent sentences between laughs.

He lets out a laugh, but stops tickling me all the same.

"Have I ever tell you how much I love that you're ticklish?" he says.

"Yes," I reply. "Have I ever told you how much I hate it?"

"Yes," he replies, mocking my tone, and I punch him lightly. He looks down at me, grinning, before saying, "Let's go on an adventure."

"What kind of adventure?"

"You'll see," is all he says, getting to his feet and holding out his hand.

I regard him suspiciously for a moment, before taking it and allowing him to help me to my feet. He keeps a hold on my hand, leading me across the common room, through the portrait hole and out into the corridor on the other side. We ignore the Fat Lady telling us we'll get expelled if we keep this up, and walk down the corridor together. Using a great deal of secret passageways, Fred leads me all through the castle, until we finally end up in the Entrance Hall, in front of the great double doors.

"This is what you meant by an adventure?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "You've gotten boring, Weasley."

"Oh, please, Knight, I'm anything  _but_ boring," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Now," he continues, gesturing towards the double doors, "come on, then, out we go."

"But it's raining," I point out, frowning.

"So?"

Unable to find a retort to that stunning argument, I follow him out onto the grounds, finding that I don't care as much as I did before about getting wet.

"You're mental, you know that, Weasley?" I state, laughing as he drags me across the grounds, running quite freely in the rainy weather.

"And you love me anyway," he retorts.

"You wish," I laugh.

"You wish I wish."

"You wish I wish you-" I begin, but then let out a little yelp as Fred picks me up again, spinning me around.

I laugh, clinging onto his neck to ensure that I don't fall. When he puts me back down, he keeps his arms wrapped around my waist and I stare up at his face, and I really do not think I could care less about my robes being soaked through, not when they're soaked through with him here.

Smiling, he leans down and kisses me, his arms tightening around my waist, as I take his face in my hands, thinking about how a year ago I was wondering if I'd ever kiss him again after the Yule Ball and pulling him closer to me, as though to prove to my younger self that I would.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Hazel," he says in a low voice when we pull away.

I smile broadly.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Fred."


	37. Hospital Wing Weekends

**Ours**

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Hospital Wing Weekends**

 

When I wake up the day of the match against Hufflepuff, I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. It isn't nerves or worry or anything like that, it's completely different, something very close to...  _dread_. And I know exactly why. Following my advice, Angelina had scheduled a practice everyday leading up to today, and even though I'm still certain we're not hopeless, the fact of the matter is we're not in any better shape than we were last week, and unless the Hufflepuff team becomes miraculously unable to fly on their broomsticks, there is absolutely no way we're going to win the game, and I know this even as we walk onto the pitch to the thunderous noise of the stands.

"And here comes the Gryffindor team... a bit of a new lineup than we last saw, due to a slight... change of circumstances," Lee says, commentating as usual, and he says the last three words with a tone of disgust, and I don't even have to look over at him to know that he's staring at Umbridge. I frown slightly; while Umbridge deserves every insult and bitter comment she gets, Lee doesn't deserve the trouble that's he bound to get in for his comments. The last thing we need is Lee being banned from commentating ever again, "and it's Weasley, Johnson, Bell, Knight, Sloper, Kirke, and Weasley..."

"Captains, shake hands," Madam Hooch says, and Angelina and Zacharias Smith, the Hufflepuff captain, shake hands. Smith seems to notice that Angelina doesn't have the same fire in her eyes as usual and goes to take advantage of this, squeezing her hand tighter than altogether necessary. Just like during the Slytherin game, Angelina doesn't flinch, but her eyes flicker down to where their hands are shaking, and she returns the pressure.

Relieved at this return to regular behaviour, I look down the lineup of the Hufflepuff team. Somehow, my eyes land on Smith last. His eyes meet mine, and he seems to straighten his posture so that he stands taller, as though how much taller he is than me is a reflection of which one of us is the better Chaser. Regardless of the ridiculousness, I straighten up myself, and though I know we're not going to win, I decide right then and there that I won't go down without the fiercest of fights. I refuse to lose to Zacharias Smith to an embarrassing extent.

"Mount your brooms," Madam Hooch continues, and we all mount our brooms, ready to take off at her whistle.

In the moments before the whistle blows, I look up and down at our own lineup, and suddenly feel an odd pang of loss, stronger than I had during any of the practices, even stronger than I had when I had first found out that Harry, Fred, and George were forbidden from ever playing Quidditch again, something I wouldn't have thought possible at the same time. It now really hits me that this is the first game I'm going to play without them.

 _And the first of many_ , I think bitterly, and I don't have time to dwell on it, because then Madam Hooch's whistle blows, and we all take off into the air.

"And it's Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle and he's streaking down to the pitch - but here comes Hazel Knight of Gryffindor - come on, get him, Hazel!" Lee says.

I zoom after him, and it's not long until I'm level with him.

"Like you'll be able to manage to get me," he scoffs, picking up his pace. "You trip over your feet better than you Chase, Knight."

"Yeah? Well, you Chase about as well as you can duel, so I'm not concerned," I retort, putting on an extra spurt of speed, and snatching the Quaffle from him.

I turn around sharply and start flying in the other direction. When I glance behind me and find Smith chasing after me, I reverse pass to Angelina, who's completely ready to receive the Quaffle - that is, until Sloper misses the Bludger he was aiming at and very nearly hits Angelina in the mouth. Katie calls for her to look out just in time, but she still doesn't get her hands on the Quaffle, and it drops until being picked up by another one of the Hufflepuff Chasers.

The Chaser, who I remember to be called Matthew McCormick, manages to get out of the Bludger's range before Angelina, Katie, or I can catch up to him, and when he shoots through the left hoop, Ron dives in the opposite direction, and the Quaffle soars straight through. There's groans of agony from the Gryffindor end of the stands, cheers and applause from the Hufflepuff end, and - to my utter annoyance - snatches of  _Weasley is Our King_ in between all of it.

The game continues like this, and somehow, in the space of ten minutes, the Hufflepuffs manage to let in another nine goals, Ron fails to save seven of those in a row, and Sloper falls of his broom when Smith comes zooming towards him with the Quaffle (it's a good thing Katie had caught him and put him back on his broom). Something about losing one hundred to zero and seeing how the rest of the team is allowing everyone to see how dejected they are and the smug look on Smith's face causes a new wave of determination to wash over me.

My face set, I fly over and take the Quaffle from the other Hufflepuff Chaser, Scott Wilkins, before streaking up the pitch again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zacharias Smith chasing after me, and soon he's right behind me. I weave a complicated route down the pitch, hoping to shake him off, but I have to admit, in spite of how much I hate him, he's a good flyer.

It's when a Bludger aimed by Kirke, which was originally supposed to go to the Hufflepuff Seeker, Summerby, at the other end of the pitch, but comes flying towards me that I see my opportunity. A tiny smile spreads across my face. I wait until the precise moment it's supposed to hit me, then pull into a sudden dive, moving out of the Bludger's way. I pull out of the dive quickly, chancing a glance over my shoulder at Smith. He managed to dodge the Bludger, though it still managed to graze his left shoulder.

A small satisfied smile on my face, I continue my way down the pitch, passing the Gryffindor end of the stands, where I hear George yelling, "YES, HAZEL! WIPE THE FLOOR WITH THAT SLIMY GIT!"

I let out a laugh, before reverse-passing to Katie, who streaks up the pitch, gets into the scoring area, shoots, and blissfully, mercifully, scores. I let out a sigh of relief; after all, it is better to lose by ninety than by one hundred.

The problem with his is that Hufflepuff manages to get int another two goals immediately after the one Gryffindor had gotten. Not only this, but it seems that I've made myself something of a target in Zacharias' eyes. There's no mistaking the way he points at me when talking to his Beaters. There's also no mistaking the way the Hufflepuff Beaters aim for me more than before.

It's when I'm zooming up the pitch, the Quaffle tucked tightly under my arm and just about to get out of the Bludger's range, that they succeed. One of the Beaters had feinted, pretending they were going to aim for Katie before changing course for me, and I, with my back turned and my focus on the hoops ahead, don't realise, and Angelina calls my name far too late.

I turn around just as the Bludger hits me in the back, near my right shoulder blade. I let out a gasp of pain, but somehow, miraculously don't drop the Quaffle. In spite of the sharp pain shooting up and down my body from my back where the Bludger had hit me, I still think that I can make it, and I'm just about to try, when another Bludger hits me, this time directed by the other Beater, who's considerably weaker than the first, but still good enough to hit me in the exact same spot. This time, I feel blood flowing and the Quaffle falls from my grasp, where McCormick scoops it up and flies to the opposite end of the pitch. I'm about to follow him, when, yet again, a Bludger hits me in the exact same spot on my back, harder than ever, so that I'm certain I hear a crack and it's all I can do not to fall off my broom, but when I look around, I find that it's not either of the Hufflepuff Beaters. I look around just in time to see Zacharias Smith handing one of his Beaters her bat back, a satisfied smile on his face.

"I thought Hufflepuffs were supposed to play fair," I groan.

Madam Hooch's whistle blows, and she flies over to Smith. I can tell from the look on her face that she's yelling at him, but it's completely and utterly drowned out by Lee.

"FILTHY, CHEATING, DISGUSTING DISPLAY OF DESPERATION TO SABOTAGE-" he yells, moving out of the way of McGonagall, but she herself seems furious.

After Madam Hooch is finished yelling at Smith, she announces that it's a foul, though it hardly needs to be said, and flies over to me, as does Angelina and Katie.

"Are you okay, Miss Knight?" Madam Hooch asks of me. "Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"No!" I say loudly, shaking my head desperately and hoping I'm not wincing from the pain that seems to intensify with every passing second. "No, Madam Hooch, I'm fine, don't worry about it!" Madam Hooch looks at me sceptically for a moment, before moving behind me and putting pressure on my back. I let out a cry of pain, but quickly clamp my hand over my mouth to silence it. Regardless, the sound had already left my lips.

"Miss Knight-" she begins.

"Alright, well, I just took three Bludgers to the exact same place in under a minute, it's obviously not going to feel pleasant, but it's not that bad! I don't need to go to the hospital wing, Madam Hooch, I mean it," I say earnestly. After all, I could hardly leave  _now_.

"They felt like broken bones," Madam Hooch insists. "I don't quite understand why you would call it not that bad? What would you exactly call  _that bad_ , then?"

"Hazel, we don't want to get you killed, here," Angelina says, looking down at the handle of her broom. "If you've got a broken back, go on and get it mended."

"I'm fine, really. Come on, I'll take the foul," I say, reaching out to take the Quaffle, but then a grimace of pain passes over my face. "Actually, you know what, Ange, Katie, maybe one of you should take this one..."

Katie takes it, and though she's nearly shaking with anger, she manages to score. After this, I try my hardest to keep playing, but considering that it mostly just hurts to move, my attempts are in vain, and I spend the rest of the game watching miserably as Hufflepuff gets more goals, the singing of Weasley is Our King gets louder, Ron gets progressively redder, and I want nothing more for Ginny to just put an end to this and catch this Snitch, so at least Gryffindor can end this on our own terms.

Ginny grants my wish soon enough, catching the Snitch right from under Summerby's nose, ending the game with the score being two hundred and forty versus two hundred and thirty.

The very first thing Madam Hooch does after she has blown her whistle and I have landed on the ground is land beside me, take my arm, and escort me briskly to the hospital wing. She's moving so quickly that I almost ask her to slow down, but then again, since I had insisted that I was well enough to play Quidditch, to request for her to walk more slowly would be beyond ridiculous.

As we walk through the corridors, I look down at my watch and let out a groan that has absolutely nothing to do with the pain (though Madam Hooch seems to think it does, because she quickens her pace). The game hadn't even lasted half an hour. I find it hard to decide whether this is a good or bad thing, because on one hand, our suffering had not lasted long, but on the other, it's embarrassing to think that we managed to fit in fourteen consecutive failed saves from Ron, three consecutive Bludger hits at the exact same spot successfully aimed at me, Sloper falling off his broom, Sloper nearly hitting Angelina in the face with his bat, and many more terrible blunders in the space of twenty-two minutes.

When we reach the hospital wing, Madam Hooch explains the situation to Madam Pomfrey. The latter nods, letting out a slight tisk, and leads me over to one of the free beds near the end of the room. Madam Hooch thanks her and strides out of the room.

"Such a dangerous sport, Quidditch," Madam Pomfrey huffs as she pushes me back onto a bed, "more trouble than it's really worth, if you ask me... don't know why kids think it's fun to go out there with those godawful Bludgers... what's so fun about risking breaking your neck?"

I don't say anything, opting to bite down on my tongue to prevent myself from crying out when Madam Pomfrey forces me to lay on my stomach, so she can inspect my back better. As she stops the bleeding and cleans up the wound, I grab onto a fistful of the sheets and squeeze onto them, biting on my tongue so hard I wouldn't be surprised if that bled, too.

"Oh, yes, that's definitely broken," Madam Pomfrey murmurs. "Honestly, completely not worth it, things worse than  _this_ have happened..."

Her muttering continues on in this vein as she mends my back. Somewhere along the way, there's the sound of the door bursting open, and several sets of footsteps, all muttering.

"No, no, no," Madam Pomfrey mutters. She stops tending to me to walk over to the source of the nose. "What are you doing here?"

"We're here to see Hazel-" comes Harry's voice.

"You can all see her later," Madam Pomfrey's impatient voice says. "I am still tending to her wounds and I will not have disturbances and distractions while I tend to my patients."

"Well, when can we see her?" Fred's voice demands. "Only we're all worried, and-"

"In a few hours, if you must," Madam Pomfrey cuts in. "She must also rest, too."

There's the sound of several voices arguing, Harry and Fred's among them, but I also make out the voices of Hermione, George, Ginny, and Ron, but eventually they die away, and all that can be heard is Madam Pomfrey chivying them out of the hospital wing.

"Now really..." she mutters, as she reaches my bed again and continues to heal my back. What could be hours of minutes after this interruption, Madam Pomfrey says, "Now, this part will hurt a bit, but you can sleep right through it, which will also be better for the healing process. I have a dreamless sleep potion in my office, I'll go get it. For now just get up, just mind your back, now..."

The last part is unnecessary to be said. After all, I bitterly point out to myself as I sit up, it's hard to ignore your body when it hurts like hell. She returns several moments later, carrying a bottle of some sort of purple potion and a goblet. When she holds it out to me, I look from her to the goblet for a moment, before taking the latter and taking a long swig from it. When I set it back down on the bedside table, I already felt drowsy, and when I lie back down on my stomach, I'm asleep by the time my head falls onto the pillow.

 

***

 

When my eyes flutter open again, I spend several moments trying to make sense of what had happened. When my memories come flooding back to me, I let out a groan and bury my head into the pillow, not wanting to think of that disaster of a Quidditch match. I then decide on how long I've been asleep; judging by the fact that I'm still in my Quidditch robes and it's still light outside, not more than a few hours.

Letting out a slight sigh, I sit up in bed, grimacing at the slight pain that I feel, though it's nothing than what it was before. I hold the back of my hand to my mouth, stifling my yawn, as I look around and realise the curtains have been drawn.

I'm just about to get up and find Madam Pomfrey, when I hear voices.

"Is she awake yet? Can we see her?" a voice I recognise as Ginny's demands.

"No, she is not, and you will see her when she's good and ready to have visitors," Madam Pomfrey's impatient voice replies.

"Well, when will she be good and ready, then?" George's voice asks, and I sit up straighter, feeling that I'm very good and ready to have visitors.

"The sleeping potion's effects can last for over a few hours," Madam Pomfrey answers, "she can be about to wake up, or it can still be over another hour or so. The best is to allow her to sleep."

With that, I hear footsteps coming towards me, and Madam Pomfrey draws back the curtains to see me sitting up in bed, staring back at her.

"You're awake! Have they woken you?" she demands, casting an angry glance over her shoulder.

"No, they haven't!" I assure her quickly. "Either way, I'd be glad to be waken up by them, can they please stay with me for a bit? I'm feeling loads better!"

She gives me a hard look.

"I'll be the judge of that," she states, before moving forward to examine the wound. Apparently, she deems it to be at a good enough state, because she turns to the group outside (who, as I see through the crack between the curtains, consist of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, and Katie) and says, "Very well, you can stay for a while."

They waste no time in bursting in, gathering around my bed and looking down worriedly at me.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asks immediately.

"Yes, fine, though I'll be better off not to use old righty much for a while," I reply, gesturing towards my left shoulder and smiling bracingly.

"Angelina wanted to come," Katie adds, "she came with us the first time, but right before we left again, she started getting a bit... upset. I mean, she was upset before, but it just got worse, so she just kind of said something about going to bed and wandered off, even though we've just had dinner."

Wait, they've already had dinner? How long have I been out? But my misery and guilt drowns out my curiosity.

"Oh, Angelina," I groan, looking down miserably, "I played much worse after that, she's probably furious-"

"Oh, come on," Ron snaps. "There's no way Angelina's going to blame you for Smith and those Beaters being gits. Besides, even with a broken back, you played better than I ever have-"

"Don't start, Ron," I say warningly, "you're really good when you're on form and don't think you're the worst Quidditch player in the world all the time, so maybe if you stopped and realised it, you'd find how much of a different it makes."

"Anyway," Ginny cuts in, looking from Ron and I, as he opens his mouth angrily, "Angelina doesn't blame you at all, and neither do the rest of us. We're all just glad you're alright."

"Yeah," I say, still glaring at Ron, before looking away from him, "thanks. Speaking of Angelina, what's it like back in the common room? I mean, obviously Angelina's miserable, but how about everyone else?"

They all exchange nervous looks.

"Well - erm - it's like someone died, honestly," Katie replies.

"Yes, because someone did die," I reply, "their name was My Dignity. Honestly, I can't believe  _Smith_ did this to me. It's ridiculous. It's  _embarrassing_. Next DA meeting, I'm partnering up with him, and that meeting will not end until I've  _murdered_ him."

"That's the spirit!" George says brightly, beaming at me, and I crack a smile.

"Of course, that's only if he doesn't go running when he sees you walking towards him," Fred interjects, a grin crossing his face slowly. "You should've seen the look on his face during the match, he's intimidated by you. It's the reason why he did it."

"Yeah?" I say. "Well good thing he's not here, then, because I'm not exactly the picture of intimidating right now."

"You've got a point there," Harry agrees teasingly, "you look a right mess."

"Oi!" I complain, moving to slap him, but then let out a wince of pain. I'm going to need to remember that the right side of my upper body is not at its strongest. I try to salvage the situation by looking up at Harry and teasingly saying, "You win this time, Potter, but next time I see you, when my back isn't hurting like a bitch, then... then I'll get you."

They all laugh at that.

"How long are you staying in here?" Hermione asks me. "Do you know?"

"No, actually," I say, frowning slightly at the realisation that I have no clue. "Should really be out here by tomorrow morning, though... I mean, I'm already feeling loads better... I'll go ask."

I make to get up out of bed, but Fred suddenly stops me. I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Well, I mean, you're hurt," he explains, "you might not want to-"

"I'm already feeling loads better," I repeat. "Trust me, I can still walk, Fred, it's not that bad." He gives me a look, and I let out a small sigh. "Alright, it  _is_ that bad, but still..."

"Don't worry about it, yeah? Here, I'll get her," he insists, and he walks out before I can say anything.

Slightly annoyed yet slightly grateful, I relax again, waiting for Fred to return with Madam Pomfrey. They return moments later, and Madam Pomfrey examines me yet again, though it's highly unlikely that I've made a considerable amount of progress since she checked me last.

"Well, you are progressing quickly..." she mutters. "I think you'll be out by Monday morning, just in time for classes."

"Wait, what?" I say. "I've got to stay all weekend?"

"Well, of course," she says, looking at me with slightly raised eyebrows, "that's no minor injury you sustained. Really, depending on how you heal over the weekend, you might have to stay a little longer."

"Surely it's not that bad, Madam Pomfrey?" I ask, a little desperately.

I'm not sure if it's on purpose, but she puts extra pressure on the injured area by my right shoulder blade. I let out a strangled cry of pain.

"I do think it is," is all she says, and that's when I give in. When she leaves again, I groan.

"Can you believe my luck? I'm stuck here all weekend! Nothing against Madam Pomfrey, or anything, but this place gets boring really quickly, you know," I say, gesturing around vaguely with my free hand.

"We'll visit you, though," Ginny points out quickly, giving me a sympathetic look.

I thank them gratefully, though it doesn't do much to help my mood. They stay for a while longer, in which they inform me that Lee has gotten triple detention for his comment at the beginning of the match, until Madam Pomfrey forces them out, ignoring their protests. Once they're gone again, Madam Pomfrey hands me another potion to speed up the healing process, and I down all of it in two gulps, as though this will get me out quicker.

I try to reason with her to let me out sooner, but she, as I had expected, is adamant in making sure that I at least stay for the rest of the weekend. Several minutes after I give up once and for all, the door to the hospital wing opens and in comes Neville, cradling a hand that looks very much broken and sporting a bloody nose. I sit up straighter in bed, tilting my head slightly in confusion, worry washing over me.

"Neville?" I call, and he turns to look at me. "What happened?"

"Er, I fell down a set of stairs, and then I had a run in with Crabbe and Goyle," he explains sheepishly. A look of understanding crosses my face, replaced with a slight frown soon after. "Where's Madam Pomfrey?"

"In her office," I say, jerking my head in the direction of her office.

He nods, before walking across the room and knocking on the door with the hand that isn't broken. Madam Pomfrey opens it after a moment, looks at Neville's hand, and a surprised look crosses her face.

"Mr. Longbottom, what happened?" Madam Pomfrey demands, taking his arm and leading him forcefully to the bed next to mine, pushing him down onto it the moment they reach it.

"I - erm - I fell down the stairs," Neville replies.

Madam Pomfrey clicks her tongue, shaking her head slightly as she immediately sets to work on healing.

"You're a fine boy, Mr. Longbottom, but you really need to be more careful!" she reprimands as she works.

Neville just smiles and shrugs sheepishly. I stare at him for a long time, before letting out a slight sigh. I'm not altogether surprised that he wouldn't want to rat out Crabbe and Goyle in fear for what they'd do to him, but I do wish he was able to speak up for himself. Then again, I can see from his perspective, after living with an abusive aunt and uncle for fourteen years and avoiding talking about how terrible they are at all costs for just as long.

I watch as Madam Pomfrey tends to Neville, sometimes paying attention, other times zoning out, until Madam Pomfrey finishes, requests that he too stay until at least the next day, and goes back to her office. At this, I feel both relieved and excited, and extremely nervous. On one hand, I'm excited, because at least I'll have Neville to keep me company while I'm here - at least, until tomorrow. On the other hand, this is the first time Neville and I have been in a situation where we've been forced to talk about things other than Divination or the DA meetings since the meeting we had had in St. Mungos with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, and I have no idea what to say to him because of it, and judging by the look on his face, he has no idea what to say either.

We sit in a heavy, uncomfortable silence for a long time, until I blurt out, "You know, you really should say something to them - Crabbe and Goyle and all of them, I mean."

It's with difficulty that I refrain from cringing. This is the first time I've had a proper conversation with Neville since I had found out in the worst of ways about his parents being permanently incapacitated after being tortured to insanity (or, at least, he  _thinks_ I found out in the worst of ways) and the first thing that comes out of my mouth is criticism?

"Say what to them?" Neville says tensely.

I don't want to answer, but I've already opened my fat mouth anyway, so I might as well continue with this.

"Tell them to leave you alone," I reply. "You know, fuck off."

"If I ever told Crabbe and Goyle to fuck off, I'd come back to the common room in a casket," he states, letting out a derisive snort.

"Well, maybe not," I insist. "I'm sure you could hex the balls off the both of them. In fact, I reckon if they saw you in the DA, you wouldn't even need to tell them to fuck off, because they'd be fucking off all by themselves."

"I doubt it," Neville shakes his head.

"Why? Neville, do you even see yourself in the DA meetings these days? You're giving everyone a run for their money lately," I say.

"I'm not as good as you," he insists. "You almost always beat me."

"Yeah, and just barely," I scoff. I look at him closely for a moment, before suddenly saying, "Tell me to fuck off, Neville."

"What?" Neville says, shocked.

"Tell me to fuck off," I repeat firmly.

"What? Why?" he exclaims.

"Well, if you can say it to me, it might make it easier for you to say it to Crabbe and Goyle and Malfoy," I reply. "So, go on, do it, tell me to fuck off."

"No!" he says, shaking his head. "I'm not telling you that, Hazel."

"Come on," I urge him, "pretend I'm one of them and do it."

"That is  _not_ helping!" Neville insists.

"Alright, then who do you want to fuck off in your life?" I ask. "Should I keep asking you to, until you get so annoyed that you really want me to fuck off?"

"We are not doing this!" he says.

"Come on, please, Neville," I plead, a smile now spreading across my face. "It's only three words, just do it."

"No."

"Please, just once, go on-"

" _No_."

"Just pretend I'm every person who's ever pissed you off and bullied you, come on, just say-"

"Fuck off, Hazel!" Neville suddenly bursts out.

I look at him in surprise for a moment, before a wide grain breaks across my face,

"Alright, Neville!" I congratulate him, letting out a laugh and holding up my hand. Smiling sheepishly, he raises his own hand and we exchange high-fives. "See? Now next time one of those Slytherins are bullying you again, just pretend that everything they say translates into 'Tell me to fuck off' and you'll find it'll be very easy."

He lets out a laugh, and soon I can't help but join him. The tension between us broken, we lapse into relaxed, easy-going conversation. After a while, we become silent, each of us lying on our respective beds and staring up at the ceiling, smiling slightly and lost in thought. It's when Neville says something completely unexpected that I tear my eyes away from the ceiling to look at him instead.

"It's not like I'm ashamed of them - my parents, I mean," he states, "because I'm not. Really, I'm not. It's just..."

He trails off, apparently not having the right words. I quickly cut in, wanting to spare him from a conversation that he clearly isn't comfortable with having.

"Neville, it's fine," I say quickly, "you haven't got to explain anything, I get it-"

"Yes, I do," he says firmly. "I'm not ashamed, it's just... I don't want - I didn't want what happened to be all I am to be people, you know? I didn't want to be the kid whose parents got tortured into insanity. But I suppose that doesn't matter much anymore, not with the story of the escaped Death Eaters out, and everyone knows Bellatrix Lestrange tortured Frank and Alice  _Longbottom_ into insanity, and... well, it's not difficult to put two and two together... you understand that, though, don't you?" he continues, just a bit desperately, "I mean, people are always talking about how you're so much like your parents... doesn't it every bother you how people never see you as anything but your parents' kid?"

I let out a slight sigh, because I'd be lying if I said I didn't understand exactly how he feels. It seems like no matter what I do, I can never be seen as anything but my parents' daughter by the people who knew them, and the girl with dead parents by the people who didn't. No matter how hard I work, how often I put myself out there in varying, big ways, that's all a lot of people seem to recognise me as, and more often than not, I wonder miserably if I should just stop bothered and start wearing a shirt that says 'My parents were Brandon and Jasmine Knight and they are dead' on it, because that's all that people seem to care about when they find out. Very few things are my own once they find out, as well; if I'm funny, it's because I'm my father's daughter; if I'm kind, I got it from my mother; if I'm clever, it;s because my parents decided to pass their brains along to me. Even Remus had done it for a while, until he had gotten to know me and now I know (or, at least, I hope) that he sees and appreciates me for me, as opposed to his dead best friends' kid.

"Yeah... yeah, I understand it, Neville," I nod slightly.

He looks slightly relieved at that, before continuing, "And that's part of it, but also... it's not them I'm ashamed of, it's... it's  _myself_ , I guess. It's just - well, you heard my gran. They were such great wizards, so talented and well-respected and everything, and I'm just... me. I haven't done anything that would make them proud, so I don't really want to talk about them until I have."

I look at him, blinking, shocked.

"Neville, of course they'd be proud of you!" I say earnestly. "Okay, sure, you're not the besy at... say, Potions, but you give everyone a real run for their money in Herbology - honestly, I mean, if I was you, Professor Sprout would have to look out, because I'd definitely be after her job. And it's not just magical abilities that matter, you know. You're bloody brilliant, Neville, I just wish you'd see it." He still looks unconvinced, so I add, "And even if it is all about magical abilities, then they'd definitely be proud of you, if you keep up what you've been doing in the DA." I give him an encouraging smile. "You just wait, yeah? We're going to make them proud, Neville. We're going to make them all proud."

 

***

 

Neville and I continue to talk and laugh until a little past midnight, after Madam Pomfrey comes and gives us each a potion to take, until Madam Pomfrey comes out from her office and insists that we really must go to sleep now. Grinning sheepishly after being reprimanded, we bid each other goodnight before closing the curtains around our respective beds.

I let out a small sigh as I sink back into bed, pulling the sheets over me. I have to turn several times before I find a comfortable position, due to my damn back, but when I finally do, it doesn't take me long to fall asleep.

It doesn't seem like I've been asleep for long, when I feel myself being shaken awake.

"Wake up, Hazel," a voice whispers, clearly very close to me, since I can feel their breath on my face.

At first, I think it's Madam Pomfrey, until I remember that Madam Pomfrey isn't a boy. I also recognise the voice. Hardly daring to believe it, I turn around, opening my eyes, and find myself face to face with Fred (it takes me a moment to determine for sure that it's Fred, considering my groggy state and the fact that Fred and George are, well, identical).

"Fred?" I say, sitting up slightly. "Wha - what are you doing here?"

"Well, you said it got awfully boring in the hospital wing," Fred replies innocently, "so I just thought I'd come and keep you company."

"At-" I push the sleeve of the nightgown that Madam Pomfrey had allowed me to borrow, checking my watch- "two o'clock in the morning?"

"Yep," Fred replies, nodding and looking entirely unabashed. "What? Is that a problem?"

"Madam Pomfrey'll kill you if she finds out you're here," I state.

"Probably, yeah," he agrees, "which is why we should make sure she doesn't find out, yeah?"

I give him a hard look, before looking away from him, looking up at the ceiling and shaking my head, smiling.

"You're mental," I say. "Absolutely mental."

"Which would explain why we work so well together, wouldn't it, Knight?" Fred replies, grinning. "Completely mad, the both of us. Now, move over a bit."

I look back over at him, raising my eyebrows.

"Why?" I ask suspiciously.

"Because I want to get in with you," he replies bluntly.

I stare at him for a moment, before I crack a smile, moving over to allow him room to get on the bed. Smiling, he climbs onto the bed, making sure the sheets cover the both of us. Once he's settled in, we stare at each other for an extremely long time, but it isn't awkward or uncomfortable, oddly enough. Finally, I break our gaze but shaking my head and looking down, stifling my laughter.

"What?" he asks me.

"You're unbelievable," I whisper, my eyes flickering up to look at him for a moment, before burying my head in his chest to stifle my laughter further.

"And you love it," he remarks.

"You wish," I snort.

"You wish I wish," he replies.

"You wish I wish you wish," I retort.

"You wish I wish you wish I wish," he says.

"You wish I wish you wish I wish I - erm, I mean - you wish," I correct myself quickly.

Fred laughs quietly at that, shaking his head with a wide grin on his face.

"Almost five years, and you're still messing that bit up," he states. "Really, why do you even start that up anymore? We all know I'm always going to win."

"Yeah, you wish, Weasley," I scoff. When he opens his mouth to retort, I hold a finger to his lips, grinning. "We are  _not_ starting that up again."

"Why? Afraid you're gonna lose again?" he asks challengingly, once I remove my finger from his lips.

"Ha, in your dreams," I reply. "It's just that we need to make sure that Madam Pomfrey doesn't hear... and there's something else we could do with our mouths..." I trail off, giving him a meaningful sort of look.

He lifts his eyebrows, a smirk spreading across his face slowly.

"Yeah? Like what, Knight?" he says in a low voice, wrapping his arm around my waist.

"Are you really making me spell it out for you?" I demand.

"Yes," he says, that smirk of his that could drive me insane in both the best and worst of ways widening.

"Git," I say, and then I kiss him.

He smiles and kisses me back, and I lace my fingers in his hair, my other hand on the back of his neck, tracing shapes with my thumb, and yes, I was right, this is definitely a very good way to use our mouths.

"See what I mean?" I say breathlessly, when we pull away.

A brilliant grin crosses his face, and I can't help it, his smile is contagious, I grin back at him.

"Yeah, now I'm getting it," he answers, and kisses me again, tracing shapes on my lower back as he does.

After this, we continue to talk quietly until I feel myself starting to drift off to sleep, turning my body around in bed and his arms still around me.

"Are you going to sleep on me, Knight?" Fred demands.

"Maybe," I reply sleepily, holding my hand against my mouth to stifle my yawn, "you're just so boring to talk to."

He laughs at that.

"Well, I wouldn't want to disturb you," he says, "except you snore so loudly..."

"Oi!" I protest, though I make sure my voice is still quiet. "I do  _not_ snore!"

"No, but Neville certainly does," Fred remarks, jerking his head in the direction of the bed beside us. "How you slept at all with that, I'll never know... then again, you could probably sleep through a hurricane..."

"That I won't deny," I admit, grinning.

"Well, you just better not take up the entire bed again, Knight," he says. "This thing's small enough as it is."

"Again? What do you mean  _again_? Last time I stayed completely on my side, thank you very much," I protest, thinking of the other time Fred and I had slept in the same bed.

"Yeah, only because I kept moving you," Fred retorts.

"Doubt it," I snort, shaking my head slightly.

"We'll just see about that, won't we?" he says.

"Suppose we will," I agree lazily.

We lapse into silence, and I'm just about to go to sleep, when I feel his lips on my temple. He kisses down my face to my jaw, before moving down to my neck. I let out a slight gasp when he does, my eyes wide open again, shifting slightly.

"Wha - what are you doing, Fred?" I ask, trying to stay composed.

"Nothing," he mumbles against my neck.

When he starts to suck lightly, I bite down on my lip, before choking out, "No, I think you're definitely doing something."

He chuckles lightly, and I can feel him smiling into my neck as he holds me slightly tighter than before. He kisses back up my neck again, before kissing my cheek.

"Goodnight, Knight," he says sleepily.

I smile, saying, "Goodnight, Fred."

 

***

 

* _Third Person Point of View in Fred's Perspective_ *

 

Fred didn't sleep much that night; considering the fact that the bed was small and uncomfortable enough as it is, added in with the fact that he was sharing it with someone and being too worried about getting caught, it didn't surprise him much. He didn't really mind it all that much, either, though; didn't mind the fact that he only really got a few short periods of rest, because he was with Hazel.

He spent the majority of the night holding her in his arms and occasionally kissing her cheek or her temple, drawing shapes on her arms and lower back when she had turned to face him, cuddling herself into his chest, wondering how he had gotten so lucky but certainly not complaining about it, either, until sleep took over his body again for whatever short period of time.

Just before five in the morning that he had better leave now, otherwise he'd just be pushing his luck, but also found that he was very reluctant to leave her. Indeed, it took him several moments to convince him to get up and leave, and when he finally did, it was still with a trace of reluctance in his body.

He got out of the bed very carefully, making sure to make no noise, before tiptoeing to the curtains and peeking through to ensure nobody is there. When Fred saw that the coast was clear, he looked back at Hazel once more, and not wanting to disturb her, settled for muttering a "Sleep well, Knight," and slipping through the curtains and walking quickly and silently to the doors.

Fred reached the doors without disturbance, and as he walked out of them, shutting them silently, he congratulated himself on going that whole night without getting caught.

What Fred Weasley didn't know was that when he was nearly at the door, Madam Pomfrey had walked out from her office and had seen him - but she wasn't angry or disapproving. Instead, she watched him as he went, remembering her own days of mischief when she went to Hogwarts, shaking her head and actually  _smiling_.

 

***

 

* _Hazel's P.O.V._ *

 

When I wake up the next morning, I find that I'm quite alone in the bed. I'm disappointed by this, but not altogether surprised - of course Fred would have to leave early to ensure Madam Pomfrey wouldn't catch him. Clearly, he hadn't wanted to wake me. I'm both grateful and a little upset by this, but I shrug it off. Madam Pomfrey comes in shortly after I wake up, carrying a tray of food and a goblet that is undoubtedly the potion I had to take yesterday, as well.

"Good morning," she says, putting the tray and goblet down on the bedside table.

"Morning, Madam Pomfrey," I chirp, "how are you?"

"Good," she replies, "and you?"

"Good. I mean, really good. Like, my back hardly hurts at all!" I reply, hinting for her to let me out early, though this is something of a lie; though my back feels much better, there's still a certain amount of pain.

"Which means you'll be perfectly fit to leave tomorrow," is all she says.

I let out a slight sigh, thank her for the food and potion, and take the goblet, taking a sip from it.

The majority of Sunday is spent with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George when they visit, playing Exploding Snap with Neville, and trying to sweet talk Madam Pomfrey into letting me leave early, with very little success; I continue to do it, anyway, because thinking of various ways to do it becomes entertaining, and I know that she isn't as annoyed by it as she makes herself seem.

"You have quite the boyfriend on your hands," Madam Pomfrey comments, after Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny have left and she gives me a goblet with the potion I'm supposed to take once more.

I blush slightly, though I smile, taking the goblet from her and saying, "I suppose, yes, I do."

"It really must be so amazing to have a boyfriend willing to sneak into the hospital wing in the middle of the night for you," she continues.

I almost choke on my potion. I manage to swallow it down, before looking back up at her, my mouth open slightly in shock.

"Wha - what?" I splutter, blushing more furiously than before. "He - I - didn't - how did you - Madam, it's not-"

Madam Pomfrey ignores me, taking the goblet upon seeing that I'm finished with my potion and bustling away without another word. I stare after her in disbelief. It takes me several minutes for me to realise that she did not sound or look angry or disapproving at all. Upon making this realisation, I stare blankly ahead of me in shock for several moments, before a smile breaks slowly across my face.

 

***

 

The next morning, Madam Pomfrey inspects me for several moments, until she deems me ready to go.

"Now was that so awful?" she asks of me, and I grin sheepishly.

"So, all ready to go, Hazel?" Neville says, smiling.

Madam Pomfrey looks around at him in surprise.

"Mr. Longbottom? What are you doing here? I told you you could leave last night!"

Now it's my turn to look around at him in surprise.

"I - erm - wanted to stay - just in case, you know," he explains, his gaze flickering to me.

A look of understanding crosses Madam Pomfrey's face.

"Ah," she says, "I see. Well, now that you're both completely better, I suggest you go and get changed now, so you won't be late for your classes. Sustaining an injury over the weekend is a very feeble excuse for some teachers, especially when you're all cured by the time Monday comes around."

With that, she smiles and nods at us, before walking away and going back into her office. Once she's gone, I turn back to Neville and punch him lightly.

"You git, Neville, why didn't you go?" I demand. "Honestly, it's not worth staying at such a boring place just to keep me company."

"It's not so boring with you around," Neville says, shrugging slightly. "Come on, she's right, we'll be late - of course, not that I'm eager to get to History of Magic... suppose he wouldn't even notice if we were late..."

I simply look at him for a while, before grinning and shaking my head slightly. I throw an arm around him, and he returns the gesture, smiling, and together, we head out of the hospital wing and back to Gryffindor tower to change, our bodies now injury-free and our moods light and carefree.


	38. The Quibbler

**Ours**

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Quibbler**

 

Neville and I actually end up reaching the Great Hall before most, and we're already well into our breakfast by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione sit down, just as the morning post arrives. This time, Hermione isn't the only one waiting eagerly for her Daily Prophet; nearly everyone is eager for more news on the escaped Death Eaters, who, in spite of many sightings, have not yet been caught. She gives the delivery owl a Knut and unfolds the paper eagerly. Soon after this, an owl lands with a thud in front of Harry, who, since he had only received one note this year, seems to think that the owl is confusing him with someone else.

"Who're you after?" he asks the owl, leaning forward to look at the recipient's name and address. I lean across the table, looking at it myself:

 

_Harry Potter_

_Great Hall_

_Hogwarts School_

 

Frowning, he makes to take the letter from the owl, but before he can do so, five more owls flutter down beside it, treading in the butter and knocking over the salt as they attempt to give him their letter first.

"What's going on?" Ron says in amazement, as the whole of Gryffindor table leans forward to watch as another seven owls land among the first ones, screeching, hooting, and flapping their wings.

"Harry!" Hermione says breathlessly, plunging her hands into the feathery mass and pulling out a screech owl bearing a long, cylandrical package. "I think I know what this means - open this one first!"

Harry rips off the brown packaging. Out rolls a tightly furled copy of the March edition of _The Quibbler_. Harry unrolls it and we all look down at his face grinning sheepishly at us. In large red letters across the picture are the words:

 

_HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:_

_THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN_

 

Upon seeing the headline, a whoosh of understanding passes through me. Clearly, the article about Harry's side of the story of what has happened with Voldemort that Rita Skeeter had written for The Quibbler is now out. I look around at all the owls, and decide they all must be carrying letters from the readers, expressing their opinions on the matter.

"It's good, isn't it?" Luna says, having drifted over to the Gryffindor table and squeezes into a seat between Fred and Ron. "It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these," Luna waves a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table in front of Harry, "are letters from readers."

"That's what I thought," Hermione says eagerly. "Harry, d'you mind if we-?"

"Help yourself," Harry says, slightly bemused.

Ron, Hermione, and I all start ripping open envelopes.

"This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker," Ron states, looking down at the letter he's holding. "Ah, well..."

"This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's," Hermione says, looking disappointed and crumpling up the letter.

"This bloke still thinks you're a nutter, too... thinks you're a mental attention-seeking brat, and that's the nicer version of it," I say, "oh, well... who needs them?"

"This one looks okay, though," Harry says, holding a letter himself. "Hey, she says she believes me!"

"This one's in two minds," interjects Fred, who had joined in on the letter-opening with enthusiasm. "Says you don't come across like a mad person, but he doesn't want to believe that You-Know-Who's back, so now he doesn't know what to think. Blimey, what a waste of parchment..."

"Another one here still thinks you're barking... and they've got an interesting vocabulary on them, as well," I add vaguely, before crumpling up the letter and starting on another one.

"Here's another one you've convinced, Harry!" Hermione says excitedly. "'Having read your side of the story, I am forced to the conclusion that the _Daily Prophet_ has treated you very unfairly... little though I want to believe that You-Know-Who has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth...' Oh, this is wonderful!"

"Another one thinks you're barking," says Ron, throwing a crumpled piece of parchment over his shoulder, "but this one says you've got her convinced and she now thinks you're a real hero - she's put in a photograph, too - wow!"

"Keep in mind that's for Harry, Ronald," I tease, grinning, before opening another letter. "Hey, Harry, you've got this bloke convinced too. Listen: 'Though the last thing I want to think is that You-Know-Who is at large once more, after reading your interview I am forced to believe it as the truth. I must also commend you for your bravery, not only for fighting You-Know-Who, but in insisting on getting your story out even after the way the Daily Prophet has treated you.' Oh, this is fantastic-"

"What is going on here?" says a falsely sweet, girlish voice.

I look up from the letter I had just been reading. Umbridge is standing behind Fred and Luna, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table. Behind her, I notice a great deal of students watching avidly.

"Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?" she asks slowly.

"Is that a crime now?" Fred says loudly. "Getting mail?"

"Be careful, Mr. Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention," Umbridge says, before turning back to Harry. "Well, Mr. Potter?"

Harry hesitates, before saying, "People have written to me because I gave an interview about what happened to me last June."

"An interview?" Umbridge repeats, her voice thinner and higher than ever. "What do you mean?"

"I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them," Harry replies. "Here-"

He throws her his copy of  _The Quibbler_. She catches it and stares down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turns into an ugly, patchy violet.

"When did you do this?" she inquires, voice trembling slightly.

"Last Hogsmeade weekend," Harry answers.

She looks back up at him, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers.

"There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter," she whispers. "How you dare... how you could..." she takes a deep breath. "I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions."

Umbridge stalks away, clutching the copy of  _The Quibbler_ to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.

By mid-morning, enormous signs have been put up all over the school, not just on house noticeboards, but in corridors and classrooms, too.

 

_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

_Any student found in possession of the magazine_

The Quibbler _will be expelled._

_The above is in accordance with_

_Educational Decree Number Twenty-Seven._

_Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

 

I beam with pleasure every time I see one of these signs. I almost want to thank Umbridge, because in banning  _The Quibbler_ , she has ensured that everyone will read the article. Nothing makes something more interesting and desirable than making it forbidden.

"What exactly are you so happy about?" Harry demands after I bream at one of the signs.

"Umbridge has done us the biggest favours, that's what," I reply breathlessly. "The one thing she could've done to make sure that absolutely every person in this school reads your interview is banning it!"

And by the end of the day, even though I haven't seen one copy of The Quibbler anywhere in the school, it seems as though everyone has read the article. Everyone seems to be talking about it and quoting the interview to each other.

Meanwhile, Umbridge is stalking the school, asking students at random to turn out their bags and pockets; it's very obvious that she's looking for copies of The Quibbler, but the students are several steps ahead of her. The pages carrying Harry's interview have been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until the reader wants to peruse it again.

The teachers, of course, are forbidden from talking about the article, with special thanks from Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six, but they have found their own ways of expressing their feelings about it all the same. Professor Sprout awards Gryffindor twenty points after Harry passes her a watering can; Professor Flitwick gives Harry a box of squeaking sugar mice at the end of Charms, whispers, "Shh!" and hurries away; but my personal favourite is the reaction of Trelawney, who breaks into hysterical sobs during Divination and announces to the startled class and a disappointing Umbridge that Harry is not going to suffer an early death, like she had been insisting practically ever since she laid eyes on him, but would live to a very old age, become Minister for Magic, and have twelve children.

Cho kisses Harry's cheek and apologises for what had happened on their disastrous date (which Harry had told me all about; it included Madam Puddifoot's tea shop, a couple snogging heavily at the table besides theirs that consisted of a boy who had asked Cho on a date earlier, a great deal of jealousy on Cho's part, and a great deal of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time on Harry's part), and Seamus apologises for thinking Harry was a nutter, and also states that he had sent a copy of the magazine to his mother.

Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and a weedy-looking boy that I recognise to be Theodore Nott from Ancient Runes all look at Harry malevolently when we're in the library that day, occasionally muttering things to each other that are no doubt malicious. I find their angry to be absolutely hilarious, though, because as Hermione points out, they can't contradict Harry, because it'll be admitting they've read the article and risking expulsion.

To top it all off, Luna tells Harry over dinner that no issue of The Quibbler has ever sold as quickly as this one.

"Dad's reprinting!" she says, her eyes popping excitedly. "He can't believe it, he says people seem to be even more interested in this than Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!"

I'm too pleased by this to ask her what a Crumple-Horned Snorkack is.

Harry is a hero in the Gryffindor common room that night. Fred and George daringly put an Enlargement Charm on the front cover of  _The Quibbler_ and hang it up on the wall, so that Harry's giant head gazes around the room, occasionally saying things like, "THE MINISTRY ARE MORONS!" and "EAT DUNG, UMBRIDGE!" in a booming voice. Hermione doesn't seem to find it very amusing; she says it interferes with her concentration, and ends up going to bed early out of irritation. Soon after this, when the spell on the cover is starting to wear off and just disconnectedly shouting things at random like "DUNG" and "UMBRIDGE" in a progressively higher voice, Harry goes to bed as well, disappointing the large group of people around him, who move away when it's just Ron and I at the table, much to my content.

"God, they were getting annoying," I mumble to Ron.

" _Getting_?" Ron repeats disbelievingly. "We passed 'getting' a long time ago, Hazel."

I can't argue with that. Now that they're gone, I can no start properly on my homework, though Hermione had a point; it's very hard to concentrate with a giant version of Harry's head shouting words like "MINISTRY" and "MORON" in a high-pitched voice.

"How can you do that?"Ron demands, nodding at the diagram for Herbology I'm drawing.

"Do what?" I ask distractedly.

" _Concentrate_ ," he replies.

"It's a gift," I reply in mock-arrogance. I look up at Ron to find his disbelievingly expression, and jokingly add, "Besides, when I'm friends with gits like you, I learn how to tune things out really easily."

"Hey!" he protests, shoving me, though he's grinning slightly. I let out a laugh, before continuing with my diagram. He looks at me as I work for a moment, before saying, "Hazel?"

"Yeah?" I say, not looking up from my diagram.

"Could - could you do me a favour?" he asks nervously.

I raise my eyebrows slightly at this, but I still don't look up from my work.

"Yeah, what?" I ask.

"Well... you know that Charms assignment we have to do?" he begins. "You know, the one that's due tomorrow?"

"Uh-huh," I say slowly, now looking up and looking at him suspiciously.

"Well... I reckon I need a bit of... help on it," he continues.

"What kind of help? On what part?" I ask.

"Er, the whole thing," he replies.

"How much have you got done?"

"The title," he answers.

I look at him in disbelief.

"Ron, you have _three weeks,_ " I say. "Why the hell did you leave it until _now_?"

"I didn't - I was busy," Ron replies. "You know, other schoolwork and prefect stuff and Quidditch practice and the DA and... yeah."

" _Three weeks,_ " I repeat. "That's almost a month!"

"It's just difficult," Ron insists. "I'm not like you and Hermione, Hazel. I haven't got your brains or your concentration or your memory or your determination - you're just cleverer than me, you don't need to rub it in."

"Oh, don't try it, Ron," I say, rolling my eyes. "You've already used this on Hermione, remember?"

"Doesn't make it any less true, does it?" he retorts, and I give him a hard look.

"I'll do the introduction and the conclusion," I finally say, sighing, "and I'll explain whatever needs explaining, but you've got to do everything in between, deal?"

A look of relief spreads across Ron's face, and he grins at me.

"Hazel, you are the absolute greatest person I've ever met in my life," he tells me, as I take out a fresh piece of parchment and begin on an introduction for him, "I owe you big time."

"Yes, you do," I agree, nodding and smiling slightly. "But just make sure Hermione doesn't find out I'm doing some of this for you and get me my weight in Honeydukes chocolate next Hogsmeade trip, and we'll be even."

"Deal," Ron says, grinning.

A while after this, after I do the introduction and conclusion for him and explain everything he doesn't understand, after he finishes the assignment and I finish my diagram, we bid each other goodnight, each of us going to our separate dormitories.

 

***

 

The next morning during break, Harry and Ron inform Hermione and I of another dream Harry had had. In this dream, he had been Voldemort, and he had been talking to Rookwood - one of the escaped Death Eaters - about how Avery had given him false information. Avery had told him that Bode would have been able to remove it, whereas Rookwood knew Bode could never have done it, which is probably why Bode fought so hard against Malfoy's Imperious Curse. They tell us that they've deduced that Lucius Malfoy had put the Imperius Curse on Bode so that he could take the weapon - whatever the weapon is - because he works in the Department of Mysteries, on Avery's word that Bode would be able to remove it, and now Avery was in a great deal of trouble with Voldemort.

After they tell us this, I feel upset, since it's dangerous for Harry to be seeing this at all, but the weight of this discovery overwhelms my worry.

"So that's why they killed him," Hermione says quietly, after a long silence. "When Bode tried to steal this weapon, something funny happened to him. I think there must be defensive spells on it, or around it, to stop people touching it. That's why he was in St. Mungo's, his brain got all funny and he couldn't talk. But remember what the Healer told us? He was recovering. And they couldn't risk him getting better, could they? I mean, the shock of whatever happened when he touched the weapon probably made the Imperius Curse lift. Once he'd got his voice back, he'd explain what he'd been doing, wouldn't he? They'd know he'd been sent to steal the weapon. Of course, it would've been easy for Malfoy to put the curse on him. Never out of the Ministry, is he?"

"He was even hanging around the day I had my hearing," Harry adds. "In the.. hang on..." he says slowly, "he was in the Department of Mysteries corridor that day! Your dad said he was probably trying to sneak down to find out what happened in my hearing, but what if-"

"Sturgis!" Hermione suddenly gasps, looking thunderstruck.

"I beg your pardon?" Ron says, looking bewildered.

"Sturgis Podmore-" Hermione says breathlessly, "arrested for trying to get through a door! Lucius Malfoy must have got to him, to! I bet he did it the day your say him there, Harry. Sturgis had Moody's Invisibility Cloak, right? So what if he was standing guard by the door, invisible, and Malfoy heard him move - or guessed someone was there - or just did the Imperius Curse on the off-chance there'd be a guard there? So when Sturgis next had an opportunity - probably when it was his turn on guard duty again - he tried to get in the Department of Mysteries to steal the weapon for Voldemort - be quiet, Ron - but he got caught and got sent to Azkaban..."

She gazes at Harry.

"And now Rookwood's told Voldemort how to get the weapon?"

"I didn't hear all the conversation, but that's what it looked like," Harry replies. "Rookwood used to work there... maybe Voldemort'll send Rookwood to do it?"

Hermione nods, apparently lost in thought. Then, quite abruptly, she says, "But you shouldn't have seen this at all, Harry."

"What?" Harry says, taken aback.

"You're supposed to be learning how to close your mind from these sorts of things," Hermione says, suddenly stern.

"I know I am," Harry says, "but-"

"Well, I think we should just forget what you saw," Hermione continues firmly. "And you ought to put a bit more effort into your Occlumency from now on."

Harry is so angry with her that he doesn't talk to her for the majority of the day, something I try to fix, with little success. The day proves to be rather bad; whenever people aren't talking about the escaped Death Eaters, they're laughing at Gryffindor's abysmal performance in the match against Hufflepuff. I'm receiving so many comments about breaking my back that, true to my word, when the next DA meting comes around, I partner up with Zacharias Smith, ignoring his protests, and I'm quite certain that the only thing keeping me from murdering him is Harry insisting that murdering students isn't something very tolerated at Hogwarts. The Slytherins start singing _Weasley Is Our King_ so often that Filch bans it out of sheer irritation, the first and only time I agree strongly with Filch on something. The week doesn't improve much as it goes on, either, especially when Fred and George attempt to lace my drink with one of their love potions when they thought I wasn't looking during dinner.

"You two are the most unbelievable gits I've ever met," I declare, glaring at them.

"What? Come on, it's not that bad!" George says.

"You two tried to slip me a love potion!" I exclaim. "Who was I going to fall madly in love with, then? The Giant Squid? Snape? Maybe even Umbridge?"

"Relax, it would've been me, so it wouldn't have been anything really new," Fred replies, winking. I shake my head at him, looking away stubbornly. "But, you know, the Giant Squid is a much better idea, why didn't we think of that?" he continues, looking around at his twin.

"It would've been a lot more amusing," George agrees.

At the moment, I can't quite bring myself to see the humour in it.

"It's _not_ funny!" I say, looking back around to glower at them fiercely.

"It is kind of funny," George insists, but holds his hands up in surrender at the withering look I give him.

"In any case, I really don't have the time to be obsessed with you, Fred, because I've got two essays, a diagram, two charts, and fifty questions to do," I continue, and the stress levels that increase as I list them all do nothing but add fuel to my anger.

"We're very sorry, then," George says sarcastically.

"Yeah, next time we want to prank you, we'll be sure to make sure your schedule's clear," Fred says.

Under normal circumstances, I would've laughed. In this circumstance, I burst into a very angry rant about how they ought to have just done that, that there's never been a time where I didn't agree to test out one of their products for them if something like schoolwork or Quidditch practice didn't get in the way, and that they'd do well if they had a bit more tact.

"... and honestly, you just can't fucking burst into and expect everyone to be completely on board with whatever you've got planned no matter what _just_ because you two bloody are, it's completely ridiculous, unrealistic, and not to mention, totally fucking unfair to everyone else," I say.

I stop to draw breath, wanting to continue, but Fred uses my temporary silence to say something entirely unexpected.

"Have I ever told you how pretty you are when you're angry?"

" _And for another thing-_ " I begin, but then his words register, and confusion washes over me. "Wait - what?"

"You're pretty when you're angry," Fred repeats. "Have I ever told you?"

"Wha- what do you - well, that's just completely - doesn't have anything to do with anything - why would you - that's not even - no, you haven't." I finally finish, blushing furiously.

"Well, I ought to have," he says, grinning at my expression.

I want to continue ranting about how they tried to slip me a love potion, but I've quite lost my thread now, and I can hardly find it in myself to be angry. George shoots his twin a grateful sort of look, and Fred grins back at him. I look from Fred to George, and back again. I do this several times, before letting out a sigh and looking down at the ground.

"Alright, I'll let it go," I say. "For now. But do that again, and you'll think I'm gorgeous, Fred."

"I always think you're gorgeous, Hazel," Fred says innocently, but the grin on his face is anything but innocent.

"Ridiculous little git," I mumble, looking away from him to hide the fact that I'm smiling.

George makes a disgusted face at the both of us, mimes throwing up into his plate, and opens his mouth to speak, but just then a woman screaming sounds from the Entrance Hall. George abruptly closes his mouth, and as one, everyone in the Great Hall falls silent and looks towards the double doors that lead to the Entrance Hall, where the woman is still screaming.

The teachers all get to their feet (all except Dumbledore, who hadn't been there during dinner) and start walking across the Hall and out the doors. Once the teachers walk out, everyone else in the Hall does too, following the teachers to the Entrance Hall, talking in whispers.

"What d'you think that was?" George asks, as we fight to make our way to the front of sort of ring that the onlookers have made around the scene.

He doesn't have to wait for an answer, for we make it near the front, and see the horrible scene in front of us. Professor Trelawney is standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other. She looks utterly mad; her hair is sticking up on end, her glasses are lopsided so that one eye is more magnified than the other; her innumerable shawls and scarves are trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she's falling apart from the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside down, making it look very much like they had been thrown down the stairs after her. Trelawney is staring, apparently terrified, at Umbridge, who is standing at the foot of the stairs.

"No!" Trelawney shrieks. "NO! This cannot be happening... it cannot.. I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realise this was coming?" Umbridge says, callously amused. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realised that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?"

"You c-can't! Trelawey howls, tears streaming down her face from her enormous glasses, "you c-can't sack me! I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"

"It was your home," Umbridge corrects, and I'm positively revolted to see Umbridge's toad-like face hold an expression of pleasure as she watches Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, on to one of her trunks, "until an hour ago, when the Minister for Magic countersigned your Order of Dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this Hall. You are embarrassing yourself."

But he stands and watches with an expression of gloating enjoyment as Professor Trelawney shudders and moans, rocking backwards and forwards on her trunk in spasms of grief. I look at Umbridge, unable to stand watching the ever-so airy, supposedly-all knowing Trelawney like this, and cannot remember a time I've ever felt more disgusted and contemptuous as I do now, watching the almost delighted expression on Umbride's face. I hear a muffled sob from my right and tear my eyes away from Umbridge to see Lavender and Parvati crying quietly, their arms around each other. Then I hear footsteps, and looking to my left, I see McGonagall detaching herself from the spectators, marching straight up to Trelawney and patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes.

"There, there, Sybil... calm down.. blow your nose on this... it's not as bad as you think, now... you are not going to have to leave Hogwarts.."

"Oh, really, Professor McGonagall?" Umbridge says in a deadly voice, taking a step forward. "And your authority for that statement is...?"

"That would be mine," says a deep voice.

The oaken front doors have swung open. Students beside them scuttle away as Dumbledore appears in the entrance. I can't figure out for the life of me what he had been doing in the grounds, but there's something undeniably impressive about the sight of him framed in the doorway against an oddly misty night. Leaving the doors wide open behind him, he strides forward through the circle of onlookers towards Trelawney, tear-stained and trembling on her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.

"Your, Professor Dumbledore?" Umbridge says, with an extremely unpleasant little laugh. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here - " she pulls out a scroll of parchment from within her robes - "an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister for Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation or sack any teacher she - that is to say, I - feels is not performing to the standards set by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

To my complete and utter surprise, Dumbledore continues to smile. He looks down at Trelawney, who's still sobbing and choking on top of her trunk, and says, "You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid," he continues, with a courteous little bow, "that the power to do that still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Trelawney continue to live at the castle."

At this, Trelawney gives a wild little laugh in which a hiccough is just barely hidden.

"No - no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall leave Hogwarts a-and s-seek my fortune elsewhere-"

"No," Dumbledore says sharply. "It is my wish that you remain, Sybil." He turns to McGonagall. "Might I ask you to escort Sybil back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course," McGonagall replies. "Up you get, Sybil."

Professor Sprout comes hurrying out from the crowd and takes Trelawney's other arm. Together, they guide Trelawney past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick comes scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaks " _Locomotor trunks!_ " and Trelawney's luggage rises up into the air and proceeds up the staircase after her, Flitwick bringing up the rear.

Umbridge is standing stock still, staring at Dumbledore, who is still smiling benignly.

"And what," she says, in a whisper that carrier all around the Entrance Hall, "are you going to do once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," Dumbledore replies pleasantly. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've found-" Umbridge says shrilly. "You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two-"

"The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if - and only if - the Headmaster is unable to find one," Dumbledore cuts in. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?"

He turns to face the open front doors, through which night mist is now drifting. I start to hear hooves. There's a shocked murmur around the Hall and those nearest the doors hastily move even further backwards, some of them tripping over in their haste to make way for the newcomer.

Through the mist comes a face I've seen once before, on a dark, dangerous night in the Forbidden Forest; white blond-hair and shockingly blue eyes; the head and torso of a man, joined by the palomino body of a horse.

"This is Firenze," Dumbledore states happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. "I think you'll find him quite suitable."


	39. Essays and Memorization

**Ours**

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Essays and Memorization**

 

"I'll bet you wish you hadn't given up Divination now, don't you, Hermione?" Parvati says, smirking.

It's breakfast time, two days after the sacking of Professor Trelawney, and Parvati is curling her eyelashes with her wand and examining the effect with the back of her spoon. We're to have our first lesson with Firenze this morning.

"Not really," Hermione replies indifferently, reading the _Daily Prophet._ "I've never really liked horses."

She turns a page of the newspaper and scans the columns.

"He's not a horse, he's a centaur!" Lavender says, shocked.

"A _gorgeous_ centaur..." Parvati sighs.

"Either way, he's still got four legs," Hermione says coolly. "Anyway, I thought you two were all upset that Trelawney had gone?"

"We are!" Lavender assures her. "We went up to her office to see her; we took her some daffodils - not the honking ones that Sprout's got, nice ones. We're just excited for what - erm - _information_ Firenze can offer us."

 _Right,_ information, _that's it,_ I think sarcastically, but out loud I say, "How is she?"

"Not very good, poor thing," Lavender replies sympathetically. "She was crying and saying she'd rather leave the castle forever than stay where Umbridge is, and I don't blame her, Umbridge was horrible to her, wasn't she?"

"I have a feeling Umbridge has only just started to get horrible," Hermione states darkly.

"Impossible," says Ron, who's tucking into a large plate of eggs and bacon. "She can't get any worse than she's been already."

"Don't underestimate her," I say wisely. "She'll want revenge on Dumbledore for appointing a new teacher without consulting her. _Especially_ a part-human, you saw the look on her face when she saw Firenze."

After breakfast, Hermione departs for Arithmancy (leaving me to bitterly regret my choice of dropping Arithmancy and keeping Divination for the umpteenth time) as Harry, Ron, and I follow Lavender and Parvati to the Entrance Hall, heading for Divination.

"Are _you_ excited for Firenze, Hazel?" Parvati asks of me.

"Erm-" I say, thrown by the question. "I suppose? It's Divination either way, so I don't reckon I'm going to suddenly love it with him, but I guess it'll be interesting to have some new blood, especially since centaurs are supposed to be experts in these kinds of things."

"He's also _gorgeous_ ," Lavender adds.

"He's also your Divination teacher," I add, giving her a slightly exasperated look. "Emphasis on _teacher._ "

"I suppose you can't get too excited over it, now that you've got Fred and everything," Parvati says thoughtfully, apparently completely ignoring what I had just said.

"See, that's the thing about relationships, isn't it?" Lavender remarks.

"I know, there's so much more freedom in being single, you can broaden your horizons as much as you like," Parvati agrees, nodding at her best friend.

"Are you saying I ought to break up with Fred so I can _broaden my horizons_?" I say, looking at them in disbelief and saying the last words with a trace of sarcasm.

"Of course not. What we are saying is that, unlike you, we can fancy Fireze as much as we want," Parvati replies.

"And we will," Lavender adds, "because have you _seen_ him?"

"Am I the only one remembering that he's our Divination teacher?" I say. "Has everyone else forgotten this?"

Lavender and Parvati ignore me. I look around at Harry and Ron, find them stifling their laughter, and nudge them both, shaking my head.

"Aren't we going up to the North Tower?" Ron says, looking puzzled when Lavender and Parvati walk past the marble staircase.

Parvati looks at him scornfully over her shoulder.

"How d'you expect Firenze to climb that ladder? We're in classroom eleven now, it was on the noticeboard yesterday."

Classroom eleven is on the ground floor along the corridor leading off the Entrance Hall from the opposite side to the Great Hall. I know it to be one of those classrooms that isn't used regularly, and therefore has the feel of a slightly neglected cupboard or storeroom; for this reason, when we walk into the room and find ourselves in the middle of a forest clearing, I'm momentarily stunned.

The classroom floor has become springily mossy and trees are growing out of it; their leady branches fan across the ceilings and windows, so that the room is full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light. The students who have already arrived are sitting on the earthy floor with their backs resting against tree trunks and boulders, arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, looking around and seeming to be quite nervous. In the middle of the clearing, where there are no trees, is Firenze, and when my eyes land on him I decide that Dumbledore had probably arranged the room for Firenze to be an imitation of the Forest.

"Harry Potter," Firenze says, holding out a hand when Harry enters the room.

"Er - hi," Harry says awkwardly, shaking the centaur's hand, who surveys him through those astonishingly blue eyes but does not smile. "Er - good to see you."

"And you," says the centaur, inclining his white-blond head. "It was foretold that we would meet again."

I notice the shadow of a hood-shaped bruise on Firenze's chest and frown slightly, but decide against saying anything on it. As we turn to join the rest of the class on the ground, I see that most people are looking at Harry in awe, apparently deeply impressed that Harry is on speaking terms with Firenze, who they al seem to find very intimidating.

"Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this room for us," says Firenze, when everyone has settled down, "in imitation of my natural habitat. I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which was - until Monday - my home... but that is no longer possible."

"Please - er - sir-" Parvati says breathlessly, raising her hand - "why not? We've been to the Forbidden Forest before with Hagrid, we're not afraid!"

"It is not a question of your bravery," replies Firenze, "but of my position. I cannot return to the Forest. My herd has banished me."

"Herd?" Lavender repeats, confused, and I get the impression that she's thinking of cows or something of this nature. "What - oh!" Comprehension dawns on her face. "There are more of you?" she says, stunned.

"Did Hagrid breed you, like the Thestrals?" Dean asks eagerly.

Firenze turns his head very slowly to look at Dean, who seems to realise immediately that he had said the wrong thing.

"I didn't mean - I meant - sorry," he finishes in a hushed voice.

"Centaurs are not the servants or playthings of humans," Firenze states quietly.

There's a pause, and then Parvati raises her hand again.

"Please, sir... why have the other centaurs banished you?"

"Because I have agreed to work for Professor Dumbledore," Firenze replies. "They see this as a betrayal of our kind."

I remember how, four years ago, the centaur bane had shouted at Firenze for letting Harry and I ride to safety on his back, and can't help but wonder if it had been him who had given Firenze that bruise on his chest.

"Let us begin," Firenze continues.

He swishes his long palomino tail, raises his hand toward the leafy canopy above, then lowers it slowly, and as he does so, the light in the room dims, so that it now seems that we're sitting in a forest clearing by twilight, and stars appear on the ceiling. There are several gasps and Ron whispers, "Blimey!"

"Lie back on the floor," Firenze orders in his calm voice, "and observe the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races."

I stretch onto my back and gaze up at the ceiling.

"I know you have learned the names planets and their moons in Astronomy," says Firenze, "and that you have mapped the stars' progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unravelled the mysteries of these movements over the centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us-"

"Professor Trelawney did Astronomy with us!" Parvati says excitedly, raising her hand In front of her so that it sticks up in the air as she lies on her back. "Mars causes accidents and burns people and stuff like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now-" she draws a right angle in the air above her - "that means people need to be extra careful when handling hot things-"

"That," Firenze interrupts calmly, "is human nonsense."

Parvati's and falls limply to her side.

"Trivial hurts, tiny human accidents," Firenze continues, as his hooves thud over the mossy floor. "They are no more significance than the scurrying of ants to the wide universe, and are unaffected by the planetary movements."

"Professor Trelawney-" Parvati begins, her voice hurt and indignant.

"- is a human," Firenze says simply. "And is therefore blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind."

I turn my head slightly to look at Parvati. Just like several people around her, she looks extremely offended, and I have to wonder if she fancies him as much as she did before the class started.

"Sybil Trelawney may have Seen, I do not know," Firenze continues, "but she wastes her time, in the main, on the self-flattering nonsense that humans call fortune-telling. I, however, am here to explain the wisdom of centaurs, which is impersonal and impartial. We watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to be sure of what we are seeing."

Firenze points at one of the red stars on the ceiling.

"In the past decade, the indications have been that wizardkind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must son break out again. How soon, centaurs may attempt to divine by the burning of certain leaves and herbs, by the observation of fume and flame..."

It is, perhaps,  weirdest lesson I have ever attended. We do indeed burn sage and mallowsweet there on the classroom floor, and Firenze tells us to look for certain shapes and symbols in the pungent flames, but he seems completely unconcerned that none of us can se any of the signs he describes, telling us that humans are hardly ever good at this, that it takes even centaurs years and years to become competent, and finishes by telling us that it's foolish to put too much faith in such things, anyway, because even centaurs sometimes read them wrongly. His priority does not seem to be to teach us what he knows, but instead to impress on us that nothing, no knowledge, not even that of centaurs, is foolproof.

"He's not very definite on anything, is he?" Ron whispers, as we put out of mallowsweet fire. "I mean, I could do with some details on this war we're about to have, couldn't you?"

The bell rings right outside the classroom door and everyone except for Firenze jumps (maybe the skies had foretold that the bell would ring at that precise moment); I, clearly along with everyone else, had quite forgotten we were still in the classroom, completely convinced that we really are in the forest. The class files out, looking rather perplexed.

Harry, Ron, and I are on the point of following them out, when Firenze calls, "Harry Potter, a word, please."

Harry turns, and the centaur advances a little towards him. Ron and I exchange uncomfortable looks.

"You two may stay," Firenze tells us. "But close the door, please."

Ron hastens to obey.

"Harry Potter, you are a friend of Hagrid's, are you not?" the centaur says.

"Yes," he replies.

"Then give him a warning from me. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it."

"His attempt is not working?" Harry repeats blankly.

"And he would do better to abandon it," Firenze says, nodding. "I would warn Hagrid myself, but I am banished - it would be unwise for me to go too near the forest now - Hagrid has troubles enough, without a centaurs' battle."

"But - what's Hagrid attempting to do?" Harry asks nervously.

Firenze surveys Harry impassively.

"Hagrid has recently rendered me a great service," Firenze answers, "and he has long since earned by respect for the care he shows all living creatures. I shall not betray his secret. But he must be brought to his senses. The attempt is not working. Tell him, Harry Potter. Good day to you."

 

***

 

As a dull March turns into a squally April, my life seems to become a series of worries and problems and stresses. Along with everything else I usually have to do, I have more homework to do than ever, since, as Hermione and the teachers persist in reminding us, the OWLs are drawing ever nearer. All the fifth years are suffering from stress to a certain degree, but Hannah Abbott is the first to receive a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey after she bursts into tears during Herbology and sobs that she's too stupid to take the exams and wants to leave school immediately.

As Professor Sprout leads her out of the greenhouse to the hospital wing, I watch her and think of what Fred and George had said at the beginning of the term about the OWLs: " _Tears and tantrums... Patricia Simpson kept coming up faint..._ "

With the amount of stuff I'm doing, it's very easy for me to get increasingly stressed, but I do manage to do it all, while snapping much less than I did this time in third year, when I always seemed to be at the breaking point. While I'm less likely to snap at anyone who disturbs me while I work, I'm much more tired than I was at the time, and more often than not, I have to fight to prevent from falling right asleep on my books. While this had been a problem before, it had never been to this extent.

One day, while working on a Charms essay, I find the battle to fight off sleep is becoming a losing one for me. One moment I'm scribbling away about the Substantive Charm, the next my blinks are lasting longer and longer and I'm writing much slower, the next moment my head is falling right onto the parchment I'm writing on and closing my eyes without realising it, and in the next moment, I'm fast asleep.

 

*Third Person, Fred's Perspective*

 

Fred had been talking to George and Lee when he saw Hazel, fast asleep with her cheek resting on the parchment she had clearly been writing on, her quill still in her hand and the inkwell perched precariously on the edge of the table. Fred always knew that Hazel overworked herself, that it was only a matter of time until this happened, but it was still rather strange to see - not to mention, just a bit amusing.

Fred nudged George and Lee, and nodded in the direction of Hazel. Immediately, they burst out laughing at the sight of her.

"Aw, isn't she so cute when she sleeps?" George coos jokingly.

" _Adorable_ ," Lee agreed, laughing.

Fred laughed and nodded, but privately felt as thought they weren't _wrong._

"I suppose it isn't that funny for you, because you actually think it, don't you?" George adds, smirking as he surveyed his twin.

"Shut up," he said, grinning and shoving George.

George gave his twin a shove in return, causing Fred to let out another laugh, before returning his gaze to Hazel.

"Suppose I better go wake her up - in other words, save her ass. She talks in her sleep sometimes, you know," he stated, getting to his feet and stretching slightly.

He walked across the common room to where Hazel was sleeping, and indeed, she was muttering something as she slept. He moved closer to her, Fred realised she was saying a name repeatedly in her sleep.

"Fr... ed... Fr... ed..."

Unable to help the rush of satisfaction and affection that he felt, he sat down in the seat across from her. When she didn't stir, he considered his options. Finally, he took one of the open textbooks on the table, lifted it, and then slammed it loudly back onto the table.

She woke with a start, gasping, jumping up slightly, and knocking over the inkwell as she did, the quill falling out of her hand. When the inkwell smashed onto the floor and broke, she looked from it to Fred, seemed to put two and two together, and have him an annoyed look.

"Why?" was the first word that left her mouth.

"I wanted to save you from any potential embarrassment," Fred replied innocently.

Hazel shot him an exasperated look, before pulling out her wand and pointing it at the inkwell, and saying, " _Reparo!_ "

Immediately, the inkwell repaired itself and flew back onto the table, the ink that had spilled onto the floor returning to the inside of the bottle. It's then that Fred notices that her cheek that she rested on the parchment had been slightly smudged by the ink on it, and couldn't help but laugh. When he did so, Hazel looked back at him, raising her eyebrows.

"What?" she said. When Fred continued to just laugh and said nothing, she repeated, slightly impatient but a confused little smile on her face all the same, "What?"

"You - you've got a bit of - of -" Fred said between laughs, but simply ended with pointing to his left cheek vaguely.

Hazel frowned, before a look of understanding crossed her face. Slowly, she lifted her hand and pressed it to her left cheek, before removing it and looking at her palms, which were smudged with ink now, too. She let out a groan.

"Just my bloody luck," she mumbled crossly, attempting in vain to get the ink off her cheek.

When she finally succeeded, she looked down at her essay, where the words were smudged, as well. She let out a sigh, took out her wand again, and began to fix the smudged words on the parchment.

Fred watched as she did, before leaning back in his chair, folding his hands behind his neck, and saying, "So, been dreaming about me, have you, Knight?"

Hazel whipped up to look at him, dropping her wand. She regained her composure soon, though, picking up her wand and, in spite of the blush on her face, coolly saying, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Weasley."

"How about I refresh your memory, then?" Fred said, leaning forward in his chair again and grinning mischievously. "See, I was going to go wake you up, when I realised you were mumbling in your sleep - you do that a lot, d'you know? - and upon closer inspection, I realised you were mumbling my name. That ring any bells?"

"No bells at all, Weasley," Hazel replied, clearly opting to play it cool.

"You can deny it all you want, Knight," Fred said, grinning cheekily at her, "but you know you always dream about me."

"Or maybe it's that you dream about me dreaming about you?" Hazel suggested, smiling.

"No, I think I'm right about this one," Fred insisted, shaking his head but still grinning.

Hazel rolled her eyes slightly, though she still looked amused, before looking back down at her essay, picking up her quill, and beginning to write again. At this, Fred's smile was replaced with a slight frown, because she still bore obvious signs of being tired, like the way her hand constantly went to her mouth to cover her yawns, the almost inevitable but still noticeable dark circles under her eyes, and how long her blinks lasted, until she gave her head a shake and forced her eyes to open once more.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"Homework, what does it look like?" she replied, raising her eyebrows slightly at him.

"Hazel, you fell asleep right on your essay!" Fred said. "You're not actually going to keep doing your homework, are you?"

"I've got to," Hazel insisted. "I've got so much work to do, I need to _at least_ finish this essay before I can even _think_ about going to bed."

With that, she continued in writing her essay. Fred watched her closely for a very long time, not saying anything. Hazel seemed to notice after a while, because she looked up at him. When she noticed that he was staring at her, a confused and slightly irritated expression crossed her face.

" _What_?" she demanded.

"Oh, give it here," he said abruptly, holding out his hand to take the essay.

She blinked.

"Give what here?" she said blankly.

"Your essay. Give it to me. I'll write it for you," he replied.

Again, she did nothing but look at him, blinking. They remained like that for several moments, Hazel staring blankly at Fred and Fred looking at Hazel expectantly, his arm still extended to take her essay. It seemed, after a while, that Hazel realised Fred wasn't joking, because she handed him her essay. She watched him as he began to read over what she had written, and it seemed that something about this made her realise that Fred was actually doing this for her, because she leaned back into her chair, rubbing her face blearily as a relieved expression spread across her face.

"Fred," she began with a small sigh, when she removed her hands from her face, "you are honestly the absolute most wonderful person I've ever met in my entire life."

"Is that a compliment, Knight?" Fred asked teasingly, though he smiled widely, unable to help but feel pleased.

"Maybe," she replied. "Why? Is it so rare?"

"Kind of, yes," he admitted.

"Hmm, maybe I should compliment you more, then," Hazel said contemplatively.

"No, I'm quite alright with the insults," Fred said, "just as long as you insult me with love."

Hazel laughed at that.

"Good point. Besides, no need to make your head even bigger," she said thoughtfully.

"See? Insults with love, exactly what I'm talking about," Fred said, nodding, and Hazel laughed again.

A moment later, Fred finished reading the essay, which was very well written, not that Fred was all that surprised, considering it was Hazel. He looked up from the parchment at Hazel, who had been watching him.

"This is all really good, except for one bit," he informed her.

"And what's that?" she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly.

"It's not done," he replied simply. "But that," he continued, picking up the quill she had been using and dipping it into the inkwell, "is all about to change. You got a spare bit of parchment?"

"Yeah," she replied, nodding. Hazel opened her bag, dug into it for a moment, before pulling out another piece of parchment and handing it to him.

When she had, Fred spent several moments deciding where to begin, before starting to scribble away.

"You're lucky this is Charms, you know, since it's one of the only classes I ever bothered in," Fred stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes, I noticed," Hazel said, nodding slightly. "You never completely disregarded Charms - mostly, but not entirely, never entirely."

"And guess who got an 'O' on their OWL?" he said, before using his free hand to point at himself with his thumb.

"Fair enough," she admitted, and they were mostly silent again, though it wasn't unpleasant or uncomfortable. Fred just continued to write her essay for her, and Hazel continued to watch him as he did, occasionally looking to see what he was writing, other times just looking at him.

"Staring at me again, are you, Knight?" Fred said after a while, not looking up from the parchment.

She jumped slightly; evidently, she hadn't realised that Fred had realised.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, looking away from him pointedly, though she still glanced over to look at him.

Fred looked up slightly from the parchment, and smiled slightly, saying, "You don't need to deny it. I know I'm gorgeous, and everything."

Don't give yourself too much credit, there, Freddie," she joked, grinning.

"You hurt me," Fred said, holding his free hand to his chest.

"What can you do about it?" she said with mock-casualness, shrugging, and Fred laughed, returning to writing.

Again, they were silent for a while, until a thought struck Fred, and he started laughing: how rare was it for Fred to do homework, and it wasn't even _his_ homework he was doing, it was Hazel Knight's - the person who was probably only one-upped in terms of responsibility in school by Hermione Granger.

"What the hell are you laughing about?" Hazel demanded, and Fred looked up to realise she was looking at him in bewilderment.

"Fred Weasley doing Hazel Knight's homework," he stated simply, still laughing.

"It's not that hard to believe," Hazel said, slightly defensively. "I mean, you're in seventh year, you really should be able to do a fifth year's homework."

"When's the last time you saw me writing an essay?" is all Fred said.

Hazel opened her mouth to retort, then closed it, looking stumped for a moment. Finally, she just grumbled, "Yes, but _still_ ," and Fred laughed.

Not long after this, Fred finished, put down the quill with a satisfied, "Done," and handed the parchment to Hazel for her to read. She took it from him, and though she looked even more exhausted than she had before, she read it over carefully.

Apparently, she was satisfied, because she put it down, looked at him, and said, sighing, "Thanks a million, Fred."

"It was my pleasure," Fred said, grinning, leaning back in his seat, watching as Hazel picked up her quill and began copying down what he had written onto her original essay. Hazel looked up to give him a disbelieving look, causing him to say, "What?"

"I doubt it."

"Why?"

"When's the last time you did your own homework, let alone someone else's, Weasley?" she replied, raising her eyebrows.

"Fair enough," he admitted, after a moment of hesitation. When she gave him a slightly guilty smile, he shook his head and firmly said, "Don't go feeling guilty. If doing this means you'll go to bed at a decent time, then it really was my pleasure."

Hazel looked at him for a while, before a smile spread slowly across her face, and she said, "You really are the most wonderful person I've ever met, Weasley, d'you know that?"

"I figured," Fred said jokingly, "but I'd still quite like to hear it more."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said vaguely, and began to write again. When she had put down her quill at last, she stretched slightly, holding a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn, and said, "I suppose I'd better go to bed."

"I know you'd better," Fred replied.

She let out a small laugh at that, put all her stuff into her bag, and got to her feet.

"Thanks again, Fred, you're a lifesaver," she said.

"All in a day's work," he shrugged, grinning up at her.

Hazel grinned back, hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and kissed him quickly. The way she kissed him suggested that, had they been alone, it would've been anything but quick and light, but they were not alone, so she pulled away quickly, thanked him again, waved at him, and walked over to the girls' dormitories, closing the door behind him.

Fred watched her as she went, wanting her badly all over again, and, Merlin, if the spiralling staircase to the girls' dormitories didn't turn into a slide if a boy stepped on them, for all the world, he would've gone after her.

 

***

 

*First Person, Hazel's Perspective*

 

A week later, when Professor Flitwick hands back the essays on the Substantive Charm at the end of class, and I see the large, black 'O' on the top corner of mine, I can't help but grin, shaking my head slightly.

"Not bad, Weasley," I mutter.

When lunch comes around, I hasten to find Fred, and when I find him walking to the Great Hall along with George and Lee, I hurry up to him, stumbling to a halt in front of the three of them.

"We got our essays back," I say, as a greeting.

"So, how'd we do, Knight?" Fred asks eagerly, grinning.

"We got an 'O'," I reply, smiling back at him. "Honestly, you're bloody brilliant, aren't you?"

"It's about time you saw it," Fred said jokingly.

"Whatever are you talking about?" I ask, with a hint of sarcasm. I've always had full faith in you."

"Oh, now you say so," he retorts, laughing.

"You know, it's weird," I say to Harry, Ron, and Hermione later that night in the common room, watching Fred and George from across the common room thoughtfully, "they never really try in school, so people just reckon that they don't know what they're doing, but they do, don't they? I mean, they really do know their stuff, it's just that they've never really cared for any of it." I continue to watch the two of them for a while, before turning back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione and abruptly saying, "But don't tell them I said that."

Harry and Ron grinned.

"I'm mostly just surprised that he actually did that essay for you," Ron says. "If I ever asked him to write an essay, he'd laugh in my face - or write it for me, but purposely get everything wrong."

"I didn't ask him, he just kind of - did it," I point out.

"Which makes it even harder to believe," Ron says.

Hermione, however, gives a disapproving sniff. I look round at her, raising my eyebrows slightly.

"What's up?" I ask, though I think I know exactly what's got her so mad.

"I just hope you don't make it a habit to have other people do your homework for you," she replies. "I expected better of you, Hazel-"

"Hermione, it was _one time_ ," I say exasperated. "I was just really tired and he just kind of... it just kind of... happened. Name one other time I got someone else to do my homework for me?" When she doesn't say anything, just continues to look at me with disapproval clear on her face, I say. "Exactly. It was a one time thing, okay?"

Hermione just looks away with a frustrated noise, still looking upset, but doesn't say anything else on the matter, and, as of right now, that's the most I can ask of her.

 

***

 

Sometimes, when I'm with Fred, it occurs to me that I have him memorised. His appearance; the infinite amount of freckles on his face, his perfectly messy red hair, that perfected mischievous grin, his stocky frame, just tall enough for me to have to go up on tiptoe to kiss him when he's standing, that annoyingly hot signature smirk of his, his dark brown eyes - which were even more tortuously beautiful when they were alight with happiness or mischief.

Which is why I find it a bit peculiar that my heart leaps every time I look at him and I take in just how good-looking he is each time, that he's completely right when he jokingly says he's gorgeous and says that I'm staring at him. Looking at him, it seems, is just something that will never grow tiresome to me.

I have his behaviour memorised, too. His little habits; the faces he makes when he feels a certain way, the way his eyes crinkle a bit when he smiles really widely or laughs, his laugh in itself, how he licks his lips lightly and his eyes scan the room when he's nervous or lying or both, how his ears turn red when he's embarrassed (which rarely happens), everything.

Which is why I find it kind of off that he still manages to take my breath away. That he still manages to make me blush and stutter, that he makes me forget the entire world when I look at him or hold him or kiss him, that he still makes my heart skip a beat, that he seems to get more amazing with each passing day.

I have the way he kisses me memorised; the way he kissed me when he's particularly happy, the way he kissed me when he needs a bit of cheering up, the way he kisses me when he wants to cheer me up, the way he kisses me when he's in one of those moods where he whisks me away to a more secluded corridor or room, declaring that he'd really just explode if he didn't kiss me that very second, the way he kisses me when I'm rambling and saying a lot of things without thinking - really, in any circumstance that involves snogging.

Which is why I find it rather strange that each time, he blows me away just like he had when we first kissed at the Yule Ball.

I have Fred memorised. Which is why it's almost confusing, the way he blows me away, the way he still somehow manages to be bold and unpredictable and spontaneous, to the extent that sometimes I wonder if I know him at all. He's impossible, he's frustrating, he's annoying, he can be cocky at times, but he's funny, he's kind, he's sweet, he's caring, he's outgoing, he's daring, he's smart, he's charming, and I adore every part of him.

I'm positively mad for Fred, to the extent where sometimes, when I'm with him, I look at him and decide it should be impossible to like someone as much as I like him, that is impossible to like him anymore than I do at that particular moment, because surely I'd explode with affection if I liked him anymore. Which is why I'm always surprised that I like him more and more every time I see him.

But then again, maybe that's what these things are supposed to be - peculiar and odd and strange and surprising and, well, weird. If that's the case, then I'd gladly give up normalcy any day for weirdness with Fred.

 

***

 

*Third Person, Fred's Perspective*

 

It didn't come as a surprise to Fred when he realised that he had Hazel memorised; having known her for nearly five years and absolutely adoring her, it made perfect sense. What did come as a surprise to him was how increasingly breath-taking he found her, and not just her looks. Every aspect of her; her sense of humour, the way she laughed, the way she talked, how nice she was, how clever she was, everything about her.

That wasn't to say she wasn't gorgeous, though, because Fred could not think of anyone he found more pretty; her smile, the faces she makes depending on how she feels, the way her eyes light up when she smiles or laughs, her long black hair, her bright dark eyes, she was absolutely beautiful, and she only seemed to be getting prettier and prettier.

Fred had also picked up on her habits; she bit her lip and played with her hair when she was nervous; she furrowed her brow when she was deep in thought or concentration; she fidgeted and played with her hands when she was impatient; she looked at every part of a person, but their eyes last when she was lying; she licked her lips and shifted her feet slightly, her eyes scanning the room whenever she wanted to get out of an uncomfortable situation.

In short, it was very difficult for Hazel to fool Fred at this point. So whenever she approached him, wearing a perfected expression of innocence on her face before she asked him if he could do her a favour, he rarely fell for it, and instead said, "Oh, cut that out, Knight, you know it doesn't work on me anymore."

Which was something of a lie. It did work on him, he just made sure the part that fell for it stayed well hidden by the part that didn't. Regardless, whenever he said that, the expression would disappear immediately, and she'd grin, never abashed at being called out.

"You know, once upon a time, you used to fall for this face," she stated, gesturing towards her face and putting on the expression of innocence once more, though making it sillier than before as a joke, making him laugh, though as he looked at her, he'd privately think that he still did fall for that face, each and every day.

But he'd never say that, instead stating, "Once upon a time, I was young and foolish."

Hazel would grin wider at that, retorting, "You still are young and foolish, Weasley."

"On the contrary, I'm old and wise," he'd reply, grinning. When she'd snort in disbelief (a surprisingly nicer sound than one would think) "And even if I wasn't, I'm older and wiser than you, Knight."

"I never said _I_ was old and wise," she'd point out. "I'm just saying _you_ aren't, either."

"But you're even less than I am," Fred teased.

When he'd say that, Hazel would look up at him, and a mischievous smile would spread across her face (it was amazing to Fred how quickly she could go from innocent to mischievous, and how these two completely different expressions still seemed to suit her _perfectly_ ). She'd go up behind him, make sure nobody was around, before kissing down and back up his neck, and when he gave a sharp intake of breath and let out a small groan, she'd say, and Merlin, he could _hear_ the smirk in her voice, "How's that for young and foolish?"

"Quite nice, actually," Fred replied, and Hazel laughed into his neck.

Fred had Hazel memorised, but that didn't stop Hazel from being endless to him, it didn't stop her from making sure that Fred fancied and wanted her more and more every time he saw her, whether she was aware she was doing it to him or not.


	40. The Sneak

**Ours**

**Chapter Forty: The Sneak**

 

The DA meetings have long become one of the only things that I now look forward to in school, so when it comes to the attention of Fred, George, and I that Filch is starting to get a trail on the DA and has files about it, we see tampering with the files as the obvious solution. We decide to tamper with them enough to throw him off our trail, but not enough for it to be obvious that someone has tampered with them.

After dinner, Fred, George, and I go to a secret passageway near Filch's office, where we make final decisions - such as what to do with the files and how to get Filch out of his office, on the occasion that he is in it.

"Have you got the map?" George asks me.

"Yep. Nicked it from Harry - not that is isn't mine as much as it is his, mind you," I say, taking the blank piece of parchment out of my pocket and unfolding it. I tap it with my wand, saying, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

At once, thin lines like ink begin to spread like a spider's web from the point that my wand touches it; they join together, they criss-cross, they fan into every corner of the parchment, then words blossom at the very top of the page, reading:

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and Lupis_

_Purveyors of Aid to Magical Mischief-Makers_

_are proud to present_

_THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

"I still can't believe your dad was one of them," George says, nodding at the last of the five names.

"And to think you two used to doubt my ingenuity as a mischief-maker, when really, it's in my blood," I say, scanning the map to find Filch. "Really, _I_ should be doubting _you_."

"Hey, it's not our fault! You were in first year and oddly innocent," George says defensively.

"I was _not_ innocent," I grumble.

"You looked it," Fred states.

I look up and glower at him, but when he just grins cheekily and shrugs, I roll my eyes and smile slightly, looking back at the map and shaking my head, though I have to admit that I probably _did_ look really innocent - and acted it a bit.

"Where's Filch?" I wonder aloud. "He's not in his office, and I haven't found him yet."

"He's over there," George says after a moment of searching, pointing at a point on the fourth floor.

Once I see the dot labelled 'Argus Filch', I frown slightly.

"Still too close to his office," Fred says, saying exactly what I'm thinking. "We'll need a distraction."

We're all silent for a moment, thinking of what to do.

"What if we lead him over here," George suggests after a while, pointing at a point on the map at a nearby staircase, "and told him that there are some troublemakers on the fifth floor?"

"He won't believe us, though," Fred points out, shaking his head. "I don't know if you've noticed, Georgie, but we're not exactly in his good books anymore."

"Were you ever?" I interject.

"No," Fred admits, "but neither were you, so shut up."

"Well, I never claimed to it, considering I called him an old git on the first day," I say, almost reminiscently.

"Hey, I remember that!" Fred says. "And then you had detention with me and I tricked you into playing a prank with Snape! Good times."

"Deceptive times," I correct him, grinning. "But anyway..." I turn back to the map, trying to find some other way to distract Filch. "Oh! Peeves is over there!" I exclaim suddenly, pointing at his dot on the sixth floor. "I'm sure we could involve him in the distraction somehow..."

"And how's that?" George says, raising his eyebrows at me.

"Well... we could get him over here," I say, pointing my wand at a spot on the seventh floor, "by... distracting him somehow - I'll get there - and then... there's this pretty big chandelier on the seventh floor... if I could break that, then run over to Filch and tell him Peeves did it... well, obviously Filch'll go running to find him, and he'll find Peeves and think he tried to make a run for it, or something - in fact, what if I led Peeves over there by breaking that suit of armour," I continue, pointing my wand at the suit of armour on the seventh floor, "and so not only will Filch think that he broke the chandelier, but the suit of armour, and even if Peeves blames me... well, I'd be the type to do it, but Peeves has got more of a record than me, and Filch probably hates him more than he hates me, so I don't think he'll be keen to listen to him... and while Filch is shouting bloody murder at Peeves, you two can go into his office and mess with his files... and then after you're done, we can go back on our merry way to the common room, and Filch need never know that there was any scheming done on our part at all."

Upon finishing, I look between Fred and George, who are looking at me with odd expressions on their face. I want to ask what they're looking at, but Fred speaks before I can.

"You know, I'm not sure if that's going to work," he says.

"Why not?" I demand.

"It's very... circumstantial," George replies. "Really, it's suicide unless you're very lucky."

"I won't need any luck as long as I've got this-" I give my wand a small wave- "and this," I continue, gesturing towards the map. "Besides, we need to get Filch off the DA's trail one way or another, and I reckon this will work, so are you in or out?"

I can tell by the way they look at each other that I've asked exactly the right question. Asking them if they're in or out is something like a challenge in the eyes of people like Fred and George, even if that's not what it's intended to be. And I'll be damned if Fred and George don't accept a challenge of this nature.

"Well, I suppose anything's possible if you've got enough nerve..." Fred concedes.

"And if we have anything, it's definitely nerve," George continues.

"Then I guess we're in," Fred says, looking down at me.

I smile in satisfaction.

"Brilliant," I say briskly, folding up the map and walking towards the entrance of the passageway. "I'll get right to it, then. You two listen closely for your cue; trust me, you'll know it when you see it - or, erm, hear it."

"You want to tell us what it is, anyway?" George says.

"When you hear Filch screaming at the top of his voice," I reply over my shoulder, before opening the door and slipping out of it.

As I walk out, I hear George muttering to Fred, "Do you ever think we've been an influence on her?"

"Yes," Fred says, "and it's bloody brilliant."

Fred's words are the last think I hear before I close the door to the passageway, and watch as the door sinks into the wall disappears. I unfold the map and make sure that Peeves and Filch are still where I need them to be, and smile slightly when I see that they are. I make my way up to the sixth floor, making sure that I cross paths with Peeves. When I pass him, he calls out to me.

"How are you, Knighty-Wighty?" he says loudly, floating placidly several feet above my head.

"Top of the world, Peevsie, and you?" I reply pleasantly, smiling up at him.

"Not good at all... running low on water balloons," he replies. "But I have plenty of Dungbombs to make up for it."

"How lucky of you," I comment, an idea forming in my mind.

"Look out, Knighty, you're not safe!" he sings after me, when I start to walk away, heading for the seventh floor. "Always watch your back!"

 _I could say the same to you, Peeves,_ I think, grinning in spite of myself. _I could say the same to you._

When I reach the suit of armour, I take out one of the Dungbombs from my pocket that I had taken in case we decided on using that to distract Filch. I'm glad for thinking ahead, even though it's not Filch I'm aiming to distract; it's Peeves. I check the Marauder's Map once more to make sure that Peeves is close enough to hear a Dungbomb exploding, open the visor of the suit of armour and put the Dungbomb inside.

I take a considerable amount of steps back, wait for the Dungbomb to go off, and after it does, wait, listening carefully. Sure enough, I hear Peeves' voice.

"Is that an explosion, I hear? Of Dungbombs? Oooh, who's misbehaving? Should really call Filch on ya, I should!" he says, his voice coming closer and closer.

"One step ahead of you, Peeves," I mutter to myself, breaking into a run.

I run down the corridor, turning the corner, and don't stop until I reach the chandelier.

I point my wand at it, and whisper, " _Descendo!_ "

The chandelier starts to fall, and I quickly move out of the way before it lands on the ground with a loud crash. After the crash subsides and the chandelier has shattered, I hear yelling. After a moment, I recognise it as Filch's voice. Smiling triumphantly, I check the map once more and look for Filch. Clearly, he has heard the crash, because he's currently running up one of the staircases.

I fold the map, stuff it in my pocket, and start running in the direction he's going, intending on meeting him in the middle. I all but fly through corridors and down staircases, and when I meet him in the middle, I nearly knock him over.

"Mr. Filch!" I say, putting on a voice and expression of desperation. "Peeves - he - he put a Dungbomb in the suit of armour - he told me he had loads, I should've seen it coming - then he went and broke the chandelier on the seventh floor!"

"And why should I trust you?" Filch snaps, glaring at me. "How do I know it wasn't you?"

"Because it's Peeves," I reply, putting on an expression of impatience, "he's ten times more likely to do stuff like this than anyone else. But if you don't want to believe me, then fine, go off and let him get away with it..." I pause for a moment, before adding, " _again_."

He glares at me for another moment, before taking off at a run and shouting, "PEEVES! PEEVES, GET OVER HERE _NOW_!"

The expression of desperation disappears, replaced by one of triumph. Once more, I take out the map and unfold it, looking for Fred and George. I smile wider when I see that they're in Filch's office. My eyes wander up the map to where Filch is, rapidly catching up to Peeves. When he reaches him, I walk closer to where they are, until I can hear the sound of Filch yelling at Peeves and Peeves taunting him.

I listen for a while, grinning triumphantly, until I look back down at the map and see Fred and George emerging from Filch's office. I run down to the third floor, and run into them - well, run into Fred, nearly knocking us both over in the process.

"You're a walking hazard, aren't you?" he says, grinning down at me.

"Kind of, yes," I reply, smiling. "But who cares, because we've done it! How's that for suicide?"

"I'll admit it, you proved us wrong," George says, raising his hands in mock-surrender. "We'll never doubt you again."

"Good," I say, smiling in satisfaction.

"What do you mean 'we'?" Fred says. " _I_ always had full faith in you, Hazel."

"Oh, please," I scoff. "What about 'you know, I'm not sure this is going to work'?"

"That's my way of expressing my confidence in you," Fred replies, as though this should be obvious.

"You're so full of shit, mate," George says, shaking his head at his twin.

"No more than you," Fred retorts.

" _Anyway_ ," I press on, though I'm grinning. "Cheers to a successful prank than ensures the DA won't get caught."

"And now let's get back to the common room before Filch finds us," George says. "Race you to the common room."

"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head. "You both know I'm dead clumsy-"

"Cool with me," Fred nods. "On three?"

"On three," George agrees.

"No way," I say resolutely. "You've both got longer legs than me-"

"One-" Fred begins.

"- I'll probably forget to jump that trick step, or something-"

"-two-" George continues.

"- I'm going to end up in the hospital wing, I just know it-"

"-three!" they finish together.

With that, Fred and George, who are among the most competitive people I know, break out into a run, and I, probably more competitive than the both of them, take off running after them.

 

***

 

With Filch off our trail, the DA continues just as it had before, and we've now moved onto Patronuses, something everyone is extremely excited about, in spite of the fact that they've extremely difficult to produce, and Harry reminds us that it will be very different - much more difficult - to do this when face to face with a Dementor.

"Oh, don't be a killjoy," Cho says brightly, watching her silvery swan-shaped Patronus soar around the Room of Requirement on the last meeting before Easter. "They're so pretty!"

"They're not supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to protect you," Harry says patiently. "What we really need is a Boggart or something. That's how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the Boggart was pretending to be a Dementor-"

"But that would be really scary!" Lavender exclaims, shooting puffs of silver vapour from her wand. "And I - still - can't - do - it!" she adds angrily.

Neville, just like Lavender and I, seems to be having trouble, as well.

"You've got to think of something happy," Harry reminds him.

"I'm trying!" he insists, who is indeed trying to hard that his round face is shining with sweat.

"Harry, I think I'm doing it!" yells Seamus, having been brought along to his first ever meeting by Dean. "Look - ah - it's gone... but it was definitely something, Harry!"

Hermione's Patronus, a shining silver otter, is gambolling around her.

"They are sort of nice, aren't they?" she says, looking at her Patronus fondly.

"They'd be nicer if I could bloody do it," I mutter crossly, after another failed attempt to get something other than wisps of silver vapour. I know the last thing I need to be is annoyed and frustrated when I'm trying to conjure a Patronus, but I can't help it; I don't seem to be making any progress at all.

"You just need to concentrate," Harry says to me.

I look around at him, and see him grinning slightly, and I understand he's partly teasing me, making fun of all the times I told him he just needed to concentrate before every single task in the Triwizard Tournament.

"Shut up, Harry," I say, laughing. "Something happy, then, yeah?"

"Yep," Harry replies. "The happiest you can think of."

"Right," I say, then close my eyes, screwing up my face in concentration as I think of something sufficiently pleasant.

I think of many things; the first moments of taking off into the air on a broom, flying through the air with the wind in my hair; long conversations with Remus on those occasions that I do get to see him; summer nights spent at the Burrow, when Ginny, Hermione, and I stay up until an ungodly time of the night, talking and giggling until one of us finally passes out and the rest follow suit; study sessions with Hermione that somehow end with just talking about anything and everything; singing the Weird Sisters' songs at the top of my voice with Ginny; walks in Little Whinging with Harry; extremely serious discussions about Honeydukes chocolate and Quidditch with Ron; making ridiculous bets with George, like who can go the longest without saying the word 'okay' (much harder than the both of us had originally thought); goofing around with Harry and Ron and playing pranks and inventing new things for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with Fred and George; kissing Fred and holding Fred and talking to Fred and dark berries, mint, and faint hints of sweets...

I open my eyes.

"Got it," I say. I point my wand in front of me, wave it, and say, " _Expecto Patronum_!"

At long last, a silver coyote burst out of my wand, looking around for a moment, before running around me. A broad grin spreads across my face as I follow its progress, and I start laughing as it starts jumping up and startling other members of the DA, before making its way back to me. I watch as it does, and then very suddenly, something hits me, my grin fading.

"Lupis," I whisper, without thinking. My grin returns slowly, and I say, "That's more like it!"

The door of the Room of Requirement opens, then closes. I look around to see who has entered, but there doesn't seem to be anyone there. But then I see him; Dobby the house-elf, wearing what seems to be eight of the hats Hermione knits for the house-elves, is rapidly approaching Harry, who doesn't notice Dobby until the house-elf reaches him and tugs on his robes.

"Hi, Dobby!" he says. "What are you - what's wrong?"

For Dobby's eyes are wide with terror and he's shaking. Everyone in the DA has fallen silent, watching Harry and Dobby. The Patronuses that people had managed to conjure fade away into silver mist, leaving the room much darker.

"Harry Potter, sir..." Dobby squeaks, trembling from head to toe, "Harry Potter, sir... Dobby has come to warn you... but the house-elves have been warned not to tell..."

He runs head first into the wall. Harry, who has some experience with Dobby's habit of self-punishment, makes to seize him, but he merely bounces off the stone, cushioned by his eight hats. Several people let out noises of sympathy and fear, Hermione included.

"What's happened, Dobby?" Harry asks, grabbing the elf's tiny arm and holding him away from anything that he might use to hurt himself.

"Harry Potter... she... she..."

Dobby hits himself hard on the nose with his free fist. Harry grabs hold of that, too.

"Who's 'she', Dobby?"

But I think I know who; what other 'she' at Hogwarts could induce this kind of fear in Dobby? The elf looks up at Harry, slightly cross-eyed, and mouths wordlessly.

"Umbridge?" Harry says, looking horrified.

Dobby nods, then tries to bang his head on Harry's knees. Harry holds him at arm's length.

"What about her? Dobby - she hasn't found out about this - about us - about the DA?"

The answer is written all over Dobby's stricken face. His hands held fast by Harry, he tries to kick himself and falls to the floor.

"Is she coming?" Harry asks quietly.

Dobby lets out a howl, and begins beating his feet against the hard floor.

"Yes, Harry Potter, yes!"

Harry straightens up and looks at the silent, horrified members of the DA.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" he bellows. "RUN!"

We all pelt towards the exit at once, forming a scrum at the door, then people begin to exit. I'm somewhere near the centre of it all, along with Ron and Hermione, when I remember the list, tacked to one of the walls, not wiped blank, and my eyes widen. If Umbridge finds that list...

"I'll be right back," I say to Ron and Hermione, then begin fighting my way out of the crowd.

"Where are you going?" Ron calls after me.

"The list!" I say over my shoulder, before bursting out of the crowd.

"HAZEL, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Harry says, carrying Dobby and hurrying for the door.

"The list! If Umbridge sees that, we're done for!" I call back, before reaching the piece of parchment.

I rip it off the wall, and starting running back for the exit. I go to wipe it blank with my wand, but then suddenly stop. I scan the names, going through a list of all the people who were here today, checking if someone had betrayed us. When I reach Marietta Edgecombe's name, my heart drops; she hadn't been here today. I suddenly remember how reluctant she had seemed to even join the DA... it really only seemed to be because of Cho...

I shake my head and tell myself that I'm jumping to conclusions. But I just can't seem to convince myself.

"HAZEL, COME ON!" someone yells, and I look up to see Fred, George, and Lee gesturing for me to hurry up.

I wipe the parchment blank quickly with my wand, and quicken my pace. We're the last ones out of the Room of Requirement, and Lee slams the door shut behind us, before we take off running down the corridor again, turning several corridors.

"Let's go to the Owlery!" I say. "Pretend we're sending a-"

"Aha! I've got you now!" a voice yells, and my eyes widen when I recognise it as Pansy Parkinson's.

"Scratch that, over here!" I say desperately, running over to a stretch of wall near a suit of armour, knowing there's a secret passageway behind it.

I tape it with my wand five times, and once the passage is open, I shove Fred, George, and Lee unceremoniously into the passageway. When I se one of Parkinson's feet, I let out a small, panicked noise, which is cut short when Fred takes my arm and drags me into the passageway with them. George closes the passageway, just as we hear Parkinson's voice.

"Who's there? I know someone's here," she calls. "Is it you, Knight? I thought I heard your voice..."

The four of us stay deadly silent on the other side of the wall, hardly daring to breathe. Her footsteps draw closer, and soon she's right outside the passageway. I bite down on my lower lip very hard, crossing my fingers.

"What's this...?" she wonders aloud, and my heart drops.

I know exactly what it is. It's the parchment containing the list of the DA members. It's wiped blank, and I had made sure that any Revealing spells wouldn't reveal the contents of it unless the password was uttered, but what if there were any Revealing spells I missed? What if I did it wrong? And most of all, how could I have been so stupid as to drop it?

"Now, this could be interesting..." Parkinson says. "I've got you now, haven't I? Better show this to Professor Umbridge..." with that, she begins walking again, her footsteps fading away until we can't hear them at all. We wait several moments, before Fred pokes his head through to see if she's gone.

"She's left," Fred says, after he has retracted his head.

"And I'm an idiot," I say, letting out a long breath and shaking my head, slapping my forehead with the palm of my hand several times. "I am a complete, total, fucking idiot."

"Why?" Lee says, looking bewildered.

"I dropped the list! I had it, and then I was stupid enough to drop it!" I burst out. "I mean, I wiped it, and I put spells to prevent it being revealed by most Revealing spells, but what if I did something wrong? What if there are spells that I missed? How could I have dropped it? If she takes it to Umbridge and Umbridge is able to get the list to show up, then we're all done for, and it'll all be my fault - holy shit, how could I have been this stupid? What if we're all expelled and it's my fault, because I was so bloody stupid-"

"Hazel, this isn't your fault," Fred interrupts. "If it's anyone's fault, it's the git who sold us out."

"Who d'you reckon did it, anyway?" Lee adds, clearly trying to get my mind off it, but nothing's going to help the guilt I feel, especially if Umbridge manages to find the content of the parchment.

"I bet it was Zacharias Smith," George says. "Never trusted the slimy git."

"Did anyone?" Lee says, raising his eyebrows.

"It wasn't him," I say miserably. "Well, it might have been, but I reckon it was Marietta Edgecombe. The girl that always came with Cho Change," I elaborate, upon noticing their confused looks, "the one who always looked like she didn't want to be there. She wasn't here today... I think she might've gone to Umbridge tonight."

"Well.. it'd definitely make sense..." Fred says, frowning slightly.

We stand there in silence for several moments, before I let out a small sigh and speak.

"Come on, let's get back to the common room."

With that, I lead the way back to the common room, where all the DA members are - except for Harry. Worry surges through me. Has he been caught?

We go to join Ron and Hermione.

"Have you seen Harry?" Hermione asks.

I shake my head. I explain that I had dropped the list and Parkinson had picked it up and taken it to Umbridge, and while I had wiped it, there was still a great risk. They insist that I shouldn't blame myself, but I still can't shake the feeling of guilt; if I hadn't fucking dropped it... we could've been safer... even if Harry had been caught, there wouldn't be any solid proof except for the word of whoever had sold us out...

After that, we sit there for some time, mostly silent, until Lee loudly announces that he can't stand it and is going to bed. Fred and George follow him not too long after that.

"Don't blame yourself, love, you haven't done anything wrong," Fred whispers to me, kissing my temple and getting up before following his twin to the boys' dormitories.

It's not his words that stick in my head, but my own words. The words I had said to Ernie back in the Hog's Head: " _Ernie, do you really think we're just going to leave this list lying around where anyone can find it?_ " How ironic of me to have done the exact thing I had insisted would never happen.

I sit there with Ron and Hermione, waiting for Harry and wondering if things can get any worse.

 

***

 

I find out that things can get worse. I find out that they can get much worse. When Harry returns to the common room at last, he finds us, joins us, and launches into a recount of what had happened to him. Malfoy had caught him, and Umbridge had taken him to Dumbledore's office, where Dumbledore, McGonagall, Kingsley, an Auror called Dawlish, Fudge, Percy, and Marietta Edgecombe (turns out she had been the one who betrayed us, and now the word 'SNEAK' is across her face in the form of close-set, purple pustules) all were. With help from Kingsley modifying Marietta's memory, it had seemed that Dumbledore would be able to play it off, but then Parkinson had come in, and Kingsley had been able to reveal the contents of the parchment (I don't blame him, he couldn't refuse or it would seem suspicious). Dumbledore had taken the fall for it, but when Fudge had gone to arrest him, he took everyone out long enough for them to be disoriented so he could make his escape (which involved Fawkes the Phoenix). Before he had left, however, he had insisted that Harry continue to try very hard in Occlumency.

I miserably tell Harry just how Parkinson had come across the parchment, and while he says he doesn't blame me, all I can think is that if I hadn't been so stupid, Dumbledore might still be here...

The next morning, new signs are put up all over the school; signs that make my blood run cold.

_BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC_

_Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced_

_Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of_

_Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Eight._

_Signed: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic_

The signs do not explain how Dumbledore had managed to escape, so naturally rumours start to fly around; I hear a second year girl assuring her friend that Fudge is definitely currently at St. Mungo's with a pumpkin or a head. The rest of the information, though, is surprisingly accurate. Everybody, for example, knows that Harry and Marietta are the only students who witnessed the event, and since Mariette is in the hospital wing (discovering this brings me a rush of satisfaction I should probably be more ashamed of than I am), so everyone turns to Harry to tell the story.

Dumbledore's departure and the end of the DA has left me miserable, the guilt at having been so idiotic as to drop the list still filling me up, but I don't talk about it anymore, because everyone else is so upset that they really don't need me going around blaming myself, even if I do really deserve to do so.

Fred and George manage to give me a whole other thing to be upset about on Sunday, when they ask to talk to me in private. I raise my eyebrows slightly when they ask, but shrug and nod all the same, following them up to their dormitory.

"So, what's up?" I ask, leaning against the dresser after Fred closes the door behind us.

"We... have something to tell you," George replies, "and to ask you, really."

"Fire away," I say, nodding.

"Well..." Fred begins, before looking at his twin, then back at me, and blurting out, "we're leaving Hogwarts."

I blink, staring at him blankly.

"Well, yeah," I say, frowning slightly, not quite understanding why this needs to be announced. "You're in seventh year and it's almost the end of term..."

"No, like, we're leaving Hogwarts _early_ ," George elaborates.

"Oh - oh," I say dully, and then his words hit m. "Wait - what? Why?"

"Because... well, with Dumbledore gone and Umbridge being the headmistress and everything... it's like you said, it's almost the end of term and we've been ready to go with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes since the beginning of it, anyway, and Umbridge being Umbridge and now also the headmistress instead of Dumbledore... well, it's the exact push we need really," Fred replies.

"But-" I begin, trying to find a reason that would convince them to stay, because I don't want them to leave Hogwarts sooner than altogether necessary.

"Hazel, we're leaving no matter what," George cuts in.

"Then why are you telling me this?" I ask, frowning slightly.

"Because you're my fried, and this idiot's girlfriend, for some reason," George replies.

"And because we wanted to ask you a bit of a favour," Fred continues.

"And what's that?" I ask, raising my eyebrows and crossing my arms.

"Well, we don't exactly want to just walk out the front door when we leave," Fred answers.

"No, we want to leave with a bang," George continues. "Do our bit with Dumbledore, see. And we want to know if you'd help us with that."

"Why me?" I inquire.

"Well, again, because we're mates-" George begins.

"- and because you're a bit of an evil genius," Fred finishes. "I mean, what you did to Marietta Edgecombe? Brilliant!"

" _Inspired_ ," George adds.

I grin in spite of myself, looking away from them.

"Are you trying to flatter me so that I'll go along with it?" I ask, once I look back at them.

"That depends," George replies.

"On what?"

"Is it working?" he says.

"Well, it's not _failing_ ," I reply, shrugging.

Fred and George grin.

"So... will you do it?" Fred asks, smiling hopefully at me, and at the moment, I wish he wasn't so cute.

I stare between the both of them, at the hopeful smiles on their faces, thinking it over. Well, it was like they said, they're going to leave whether I helped them or not... and I suppose it would be good if their last moments at Hogwarts spent with me would involve rebelling against Umbridge in any way, shape, and form... and I certainly wouldn't pretend that I didn't want to rebel against Umbridge in any way, shape, and form, and Fred and George had definitely always been my partners in crime... but still, the idea of Fred and George leaving early, the idea of two of the few people that make Hogwarts really enjoyable for me leaving early, upsets me so greatly that I can't say yes - but I still can't say no, either.

Instead, I let out a small, resigned sigh, and say, "I'll think about it."


	41. Angry Decisions

**Ours**

**Chapter Forty-One: Angry Decisions**

 

Potions has never been my favourite subject; not necessarily because of the subject itself, but because it's hard to like a subject when you have a teacher like Severus Snape teaching it. So, on the following Monday, when I do down to the dungeons, I'm accompanied by Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the usual sensation of dread that I've long since associated with Potions class.

It's just that no matter what I do, Snape always seems to find something to criticise, something that isn't good enough, some apparently huge flaw that is actually just a minor mistake, and not only is that in itself annoying and hard to deal with, but it reminds me too much of Privet Drive and the Martins or my liking - and let's not forget that the fact that I have to hold my tongue while I'm with both Snape and the Martins, and that the act of holding my tongue sometimes proves to be impossible.

The class starts out fine - well, as fine as a class can be when it's taught by Snape, anyway - until Snape starts his usual bullying of Neville. Over the years, I've learned to keep quiet about it, because standing up to Snape for anyone ends up in detention for me and even worse bullying for whoever it is that he was originally bullying.

But over the years, I've also grown tired of Snape bullying and scaring his students simply because he can and just refusing to have even the tiniest bit of maturity, like one would think someone with a job like a teacher should have, I've had nearly five years to get sick and tired and angry about it. Factor in my anger at Umbridge becoming Headmistress and that Neville really hadn't made that big of a mistake this time, it's probably easy to see why I had snapped this particular time.

"Why you insist on being such an abysmal, terrible potion-maker, Longbottom, I'll never know-"

"Maybe it's just to see you angry," I blurt out loudly. "It's just so easy, I wonder what made you so bitter-"

I stop when I do only because Hermione stomps on my foot. Regardless, there's no taking back my words and there's no taking back the fact that Snape heard them. He stiffens, before straightening up and turning around to face me very slowly. I know immediately that I'm probably more fucked than I ever have been before when it comes to Snape, because even though I've definitely spoken out in Potions before, I've never actually insulted him to his face.

As he walks closer to me, moving slowly with an expression of cold fury on his face, I try not to look as anxious as I feel, opting to sit straighter in my seat, looking at him with no emotion except for slightly raised eyebrows, as though to challenge him - of course, the last thing a student wants to do is challenge a teacher, but I hate Snape, and I don't want to look like I'm afraid or backing down at all.

"Knight, I have told you time and time again to behave yourself and hold your tongue," he says menacingly, once he's right in front of me, "and yet, the message has still not gone through to your head. Regardless, since I do not possess the happy power that could grant your expulsion, I will try yet again. Another week's worth of detention might do you some good, Knight."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I say, making sure my voice sounds almost bored.

He glowers at me for another moment, his eyes narrowing, before turning away abruptly and sweeping to the front of the classroom. When he's gone, I let out a tiny sigh, ignore the look Hermione is giving me, and continue working on my potion, wondering if I should be regretting my outburst more than I do.

At the end of class, I'm packing up and about to leave, when Snape calls me back.

"Knight, over here. I'd like a word."

I exchange half gloomy, half annoyed looks with Harry and Ron, before doubling back and walking over to Snape's desk, where he stands on the other side, watching me. I feel extremely uncomfortable and extremely exposed, but I try my best to make my expression neutral, to act as though I have no idea why I'm here.

"Something wrong, Professor?" I say innocently.

"We both know exactly what's wrong, Knight," Snape hisses, "and it's your insolence, your disrespect, your absolute disregard for the rules. I cannot say I am surprised by the way you turned out, considering the arrogance of your pigheaded father-"

"My father was not arrogant or pigheaded!" I hiss immediately, furious.

"And you would know, how?" Snape says, his lip curling unpleasantly, and I very nearly punch him in the face. "Now silence, you silly little girl. It is evident to me that you will not be continuing Potions to the NEWT level, due to the painfully obvious fact that your skill in Potions is mediocre at the very best. But we still have another three months until that happy farewell and you are no longer my student, and in that time, you will respect me. The idiocy you take for boldness and bravery will be silenced, your obnoxious acts of what you foolishly think to be rebellion will cease, and you will never insult me or the way I teach ever again, or the consequences you suffer will be... severe."

I don't reply. In fact, I don't do anything but look at him, because I'm so angry that I can't think straight, can't think of words that would suffice in describing my emotions and my opinions towards Snape and what he has just told me.

"Do you understand? Or are you so stupid that I need to repeat myself in simpler terms?" he sneers.

I continue to look at him. Then, I open my mouth to speak, part of me hoping I don't  say anything rash, the other part not really caring at this point.

"I understand," I say, my voice sounding odd even in my own ears. "Mediocre though I may be in Potions, I do have a fairly standard vocabulary, Professor."

"If only your maturity level reflected your vocabulary," he says coldly. How ironic for him to be speaking of maturity. "Now, onto your detentions-"

"Oh, my favourite part," I blurt out.

" _Silence_ ," Snape says, giving me a warning look. "Your detentions will take place in my office every night this week at seven o'clock. You will be sorting through some of the more - ah - difficult Potions ingredients. Dragon hide gloves," he continues, sneering, "will not be needed."

I almost roll my eyes. By 'difficult' he means 'dangerous' and 'painful'; I know this from experience, having had a detention like this in my second year. Regardless of the fact I stopped myself from rolling my eyes fully, he seemed to still notice.

"Respect, Knight," he hisses.

 _Silence, respect,_ I think bitterly. _If only he called me 'girl' instead of 'Knight', then he would've been an Uncle Gabriel with a better vocabulary._

"Seven o'clock, Knight. Don't be late."

"Yes, Professor," I say through gritted teeth.

I turn on my heel and walk quickly and quietly out of the classroom, hoping that I look composed. I walk down the corridors, moving quickly and trying very hard not to explode.

I catch up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione when they're nearly up the staircase that leads to the Entrance Hall. I quicken my pace, before drawing level with them.

"That fucking _bastard,_ " I burst out as a greeting.

"Hazel!" Hermione reprimands, looking around worriedly.

In my anger, I ignore her.

"Do you know what he fucking said to me? He went off, called me insolent and disrespectful and said I had a disregard for the rules, whatever, then went and called my dad arrogant and pigheaded, so when I tried to defend him, you know what he had the nerve to say? He went and said 'And you would know, how?', because, oh, yes, that's right, I never knew my dad! Because I really needed _him_ to remind me my parents are dead! Then he went and said that it's obvious that I'm not going to be taking Potions to the NEWT level, because my Potions skills are mediocre at best, then he went on this whole rant about how I'm going to respect him until that _happy_ _farewell where I'm no longer his student,_ to quote him, then he had the nerve to call _me_ immature! Him, of all people? God, I hate him so much!" I continue furiously, breathing deeply through my nose. "Silly little girl, am I? Mediocre at best, am I? Stupid, am I? Oh, we'll see about that, we'll just fucking see!"

"And how exactly are we going to see?" Ron asks apprehensively, he, Harry, and Hermione struggling to keep up with my rapid pace.

"You mark my words, I will not rest until I get an 'O' in my Potions OWL and I see the look on his face when I show up in his class again," I declare viciously. "We'll just see who's mediocre at best, we'll see who's stupid, who's immature."

With that, I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder with more aggressiveness than I would give it in any other circumstance, and quicken my pace once more as I head for the Great Hall, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione to struggle along behind me.

 

***

 

A few days later, on the way back to the castle after Herbology, Harry tells what had happened in Dumbledore's office the night he had left to Ernie, who is listening intently.

"Dumbledore'll be back before long," Ernie says confidently, after Harry finishes telling the story. "They couldn't keep him away in our second year and they won't be able to keep him away this time. The Fat Friar told me -" he drops his voice conspiratorially, so that, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I have to lean closer to listen - "that Umbridge tried to get back into his office after they searched the castle and grounds for him. Couldn't get past the gargoyle. The Head's office has sealed itself against her," Ernie smirks. "Apparently, she had a right little tantrum."

"Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office," Hermione says viciously, as we walk up the stone steps to the Entrance Hall. "Lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid, puffed-up, power-crazy, old-"

"Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?"

Draco Malfoy has slid out from behind the door, followed closely by Crabbe and Goyle, his pale, pointed face alight with malice.

"Afraid I'm going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," he drawls.

"It's only teachers who can dock points from houses, Malfoy," Ernie says immediately.

"Yeah, we're prefects, too, remember?" Ron snarls.

"I know prefects can't dock points, Weasel King," Malfoy sneers, causing Crabbe and Goyle to snicker. "But members of the Inquisitorial Squad-"

"The what?" Hermione interrupts sharply.

"The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger," Malfoy repeats, pointing towards a tiny silver 'I' on his robes just beneath his prefect's badge. "A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by Professor Umbride."

"So, in other words, a group of the biggest douchebags Umbridge could find?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

"Douchebags or not, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points," Malfoy says, "so, Granger, I'll take five from you for being rude about our new Headmistress. Macmillan, five for contradicting me. Potter, five because I don't like you. Weasley, your shirt's untucked, so I'll take another five for that. Oh, and, Knight, five from you, for contradicting and insulting the Inquisitorial Squad - actually you know what, I don't like you much, either, so let's make it ten. Oh, yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten off for that."

Ron pulls out his wand, but Hermione pushes it away, whispering, "Don't."

"Wise move, Granger," Malfoy breathes. "New Head, new times... be good now, Potty... Weasel King..."

Laughing heartily, he strides away with Crabbe and Goyle.

"He was bluffing," Ernie says, looking appalled. "He can't be allowed to dock points... that would be ridiculous... it would completely undermine the prefect system..."

But Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I have all turned automatically to the giant hourglasses set in niches along the wall behind us, which record the house points. This morning, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been neck and neck in the lead; but now, even as we watch, stones fly upwards, reducing the amounts in lower bulbs. The only glass that seems to be unchanged is Slytherin's.

"Noticed, have you?" say Fred's voice.

He and George have just come down the marble staircase and join Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ernie, and I in front of the hour-glasses.

"Malfoy just docked us about fifty points," Harry states furiously, as we watch several more fly upwards from the Gryffindor glass.

"Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break," George informs us.

"And what do you mean by 'tried'?" I ask.

"He never managed to get all the words out," Fred says, "due to the fact that we shoved him head-first into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor."

"But you'll get into terrible trouble!" Hermione says, looking very shocked.

"Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him," Fred replies coolly. "Anyway, we've decided we don't really care about getting into trouble anymore."

"Have you ever?" Hermione says.

"Course we have," George replied, nodding. "Never been expelled, have we?"

"We've always known when to cross the line," Fred states.

"We might have put a toe across it occasionally," George interjects.

"But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem," Fred says.

"But now?" Ron asks tentatively.

"Well, now-" George says.

"- with Dumbledore gone -" continues Fred.

"- we reckon a bit of mayhem -" says George.

"- is exactly what our dear new Head needs," Fred finishes.

"You mustn't!" Hermione whispers. "You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!"

"You don't get it, Hermione, do you?" Fred says, smiling at her. "We don't care about staying anymore. We'd have already left if we weren't determined to do our but for Dumbledore first. So, anyway," he checks his watch, "phase one is about to begin. I'd get in the Great Hall for lunch, if I were you, that way the teachers can't say that you had anything to do with it."

"Anything to do with what?" I ask, rather interested.

"You'll see," George replies "Now, run along."

Fred and George turn away and disappear into the swelling crowd descending the stairs towards lunch. Ernie mumbles something about unfinished Transfiguration homework and hurries away.

"I think we should get out of here, you know," Hermione says nervously. "Just in case."

"Yeah, alright," Ron says, nodding, and the four of us move towards the doors of the Great Hall, but we've barely stepped inside, when Harry suddenly turns around, then hastily takes several steps backwards.

Turning around, I see that it's Filch that Harry had turned around for, and he had probably been very close to him before moving back, an action which I now understand; Filch is always better viewed at a distance.

"The Headmistress would like to see you, Potter," Filch leers.

"I didn't do it," Harry blurts out, which, is, while true, a bad move on his part.

Filch's jowls wobble with silent laughter.

"Guilty conscience, eh?" he wheezes. "Follow me."

Harry glances at Ron, Hermione, and I, shrugs, then follows Filch back into the Entrance Hall, against the tide of students heading in the opposite direction. Ron, Hermione, and I stare after them for a moment, glance at each other, shrug ourselves, before turning back around and going back into the Entrance Hall.

"What d'you think Umbridge wants him for?" Ron asks, as we sit down at the Gryffindor table.

"Might want to get him in trouble, or something," I say thoughtfully. "I mean, she probably knows that Dumbledore didn't actually lead the group... but she can't get Harry for that anymore, can she, because Dumbledore's already confessed and is on the run, as far as the Ministry knows, and if they find them - which they won't, mind you, but still - he'll be arrested. So maybe she's trying to him for something else?"

"Maybe..." Hermione concedes, "or maybe she wants information. It's common knowledge that Harry and Dumbledore are close, and now Dumbledore's confessed to leading a group that Harry was obviously actively involved in.. maybe Umbridge thinks that Harry knows where Dumbledore is now."

"Yeah, that'll probably be it," I say, nodding at her. "And if not Dumbledore, then maybe Siri - Snuffles. She almost caught him in the fireplace back in the beginning of the year, remember? She can't jave forgotten something like that."

"She can't really think that Harry would actually tell her anything, can she?" Ron points out. "Even if he knew about Dumbledore, she must know he'd never tell _her_?"

"No, Umbridge is a lot of things - prejudiced, vile, evil, cruel, some could even say crazy - where was I? - oh, right-" I say, suddenly remembering- "but she's not stupid. But I also think that a teacher like Umbridge would have her... _methods_ in getting the truth out of people."

"Like what?" Hermione asks me suspiciously.

"You're not thinking... one of the Unforgivable Curses, or something like that, are you?" Ron says.

"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head and half laughing. "Not even Umbridge would be so horrible and desperate. At least," I add as an afterthought, "not yet. If I've learned anything from Umbridge this year, it's to not think it's impossible for her to get any worse than she is at any given time."

"I think it'd be good if we all learned it - especially those two," she adds, nodding at Fred and George.

"See, the thing is, Hermione, if I've learned anything from Fred and George, it's that they never learn," I say, smiling slightly.

"Yes, but what if they get into serious trouble? They must care more than they say!" she insists.

"That's the thing, I really don't think they do," I say, shaking my head and remembering what they had told me on Sunday. "Not anymore, anyway. They used to care - they'd never admit it, they'd never act like it, but they did."

"She's right," Ron says, nodding. "They always drew a line. They tried to act like they didn't, they never admitted to it, but it was always pretty clear that they knew what was going too far and they never went there. And Fred and George aren't exactly all talk and no walk, are they?"

"No, they're definitely a bit of a balance of both," I say, trying not to smile.

I meet Ron's eyes, and we have to look away quickly from each other to keep from laughing, especially at the look Hermione's giving us.

"This isn't a joke!" she says.

"We never said it was!" Ron protests.

"You're acting like it is!" she retorts. "You know-"

Ron and I exchange apprehensive looks, before I hasten to say, "Hermione, Fred and George are a lot of things, but believe it or not, they're not stupid. I mean, they know what they're doing and they've obviously given this a fair bit of thought..."

"Yeah," Ron agrees quickly, "they'll be fine - that's what they always are, if anything."

I revert the subject quickly to OWL's, knowing that if anything will keep Hermione's mind off Fred and George, it's that. After lunch, we head for class, where we meet up with Harry and we also see exactly Fred and George's plan was; enchanted fireworks. Dragons comprised entirely of green and gold sparks are soaring up and down the corridors, emitting loud fiery blasts and bangs as they go; shocking pink Catherine wheels, five feet in diameter, are whizzing lethally through the air like flying saucers; rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars are ricocheting off the walls; sparklers are writing swear words in midair of their own accord; firecrackers are exploding everywhere I look, and instead of them burning themselves out, fading from sight, or fizzling to a half, they seem to be gaining more energy and momentum the longer I watch.

"See, Hermione?" I say, a grin crossing my face slowly. "Nothing stupid at all."

The absolute best part of these fireworks, though they continue to burn and spread all over the school that afternoon, disrupting classes, is that none of the teachers seem to mind much. In fact, they're taking full advantage of them, using them as an excuse to bother Umbridge, who is spending her first day as Headmistress running all over the school to the summons of teachers, all of them insisting that they can't get rid of the fireworks without her.

"Dear, dear," McGonagall says sardonically, as one of the dragons soars around her classroom, emitting loud bands and exhaling flame. "Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the Headmistress and informing her we have an escaped firework in our classroom?"

When the final bell rings and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I are heading to dinner, we see, to my immense satisfaction, a dishevelled and soot-covered Umbridge tottering from Flitwick's classroom.

"Thank you so much, Professor!" Flitwick says in his squeaky little voice. "I could have gotten rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn't sure whether or not I had the authority!"

Beaming, he closes the door in her snarling face. At that moment, one of the smaller sparklers zoom in front of my face. I regard it for a few moments, before I look back at Umbridge, whose back is to me, and smile. Having a lot of experience with these fireworks, I wave my hand in front of it, sending the sparkler over to Umbridge, hitting her right in the back. She jumps and whips around, looking for the culprit, but we're already moving again, acting completely innocent, talking in full swing about the OWL's - because no trouble-making student would get into deep conversation about the OWL's, would they?

Fred and George are heroes that night in the common room. Even Hermione makes her way through the excited crowd to commend them.

"They were wonderful fireworks," she says admiringly.

"Thanks," George says, looking both surprised and pleased. "Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock; we're going to have to start again from scratch now."

"It was worth it, though," Fred states, taking orders from clamouring Gryffindors. "If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it's five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe..." Hermione returns to the table where Harry, Ron, and I are sitting, the former two staring at their bags as though wanting their homework to spring up and do itself, and me sighing and going to take my books out reluctantly from my bag.

"Oh, why don't we have a night off?" Hermione says brightly, as a silver-tailed Weasley rocket zooms past the window. "After all, the Easter holidays start Friday, we'll have plenty of time then."

I don't need any more convincing. Immediately, I stuff my books back into my bag, leaning back into my chair and smiling serenely at a green sparkler zooming across the room.

"Are you feeling alright?" Ron asks, staring at her in disbelief.

"Now you mention it," Hermione says happily, "d'you know... I think I'm feeling a bit... rebellious."

I grin wider at that. Shortly after this, when the crowd Fred and George has become smaller, I get up, stretching slightly, and walk over to them.

"You know, they were quite impressive," I state, nodding at the window, where one of the dragons comprised of green and red sparks flies past it. "But, I mean, they weren't _that_ great."

"Oh, please, don't act like we didn't catch you laughing your arse off when one of the dragons chased Umbridge down the hall," George says, rolling his eyes, causing me to laugh.

"Fair enough," I say, holding up my hands in mock-surrender, "they _were_ that great."

"Cheers," Fred says, grinning. "So, have we got you convinced, Knight?"

"Not quite," I answer teasingly, "but you're winning me over."

if they could read minds, though, they'd know that they were winning me over much more than I'm showing.

Hermione and I go to bed not long after that. I yawn and stretch as I walk across the common room, laughing at a sparkler Fred sends my way, before sending it right back at him, and going up to our dormitory, where I fall asleep rather quickly, considering the bangs of the fireworks outside.

 

***

 

The happiness from the fireworks doesn't stay for as long as I would've liked. In fact, after my final detention with Snape, I'm thoroughly miserable and angry and want nothing more than to hit something. Preferably Snape, but at the moment, I'm not too picky. This misery and anger takes me right into the next day; if anything, it's stronger than it was the previous night.

Which is why Malfoy chose precisely the wrong moment to try and mess with me. When Malfoy calls my name, I freeze, my entire body tensing, and I don't know what's going to happen, but whatever does, I know it's not going to end well.

"What is it, Malfoy?" I snap.

"Why so tense, Knight? Not pleased to see me?" he drawls.

"Nice observation, Malfoy," I comment dryly, "and to think, it only took you five years to notice that I don't enjoy your company."

"Or it just might be you," he suggests. "Periods and whatever girls go through."

"Or maybe," I reply, my temper rising quickly, "it's just that you're a dick."

"Hazel!" Hermione whispers warningly.

"Yeah, listen to Granger, Knight. Wouldn't want me to dock any more points off Gryffindor, would you?" Malfoy sneers, pointing at his Inquisitorial Squad badge.

I look from the badge to him, my eyes focusing on him for a long time, before I let out a noise of disgust, shake my head, and turn away.

"You're pathetic," I scoff as I do.

"Pathetic, am I?" he calls after me. "Ad how about you, Knight?"

I roll my eyes, walking away from him.

"You've never made any of the right choices! You've picked the losing side! And you're going right down with them! You should've known better than to associate with blood-traitors and Mudbloods and half-breeds-"

I don't know how it happens, but one moment I'm walking, the next minute I've whipped around to face Malfoy, my wand drawn, and Malfoy is flying backward from the effect of a spell I hardly remember casting. Hermione cries out for me to stop, but I ignore her, opting to send another hex Malfoy's way, before striding back down the corridor to where Malfoy is staggering to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.

Crabbe and Goyle both move in front of him, resembling bodyguards to the point of hilarity, but it's hard to find it funny at the moment. I shoot the both of them disgusted looks, before shoving my way through the both of them in my haste to reach Malfoy. Once I do, I point my wand at him, glaring fiercely at him, looking at him challengingly, daring him to say something else. We stay like that for a while, we glaring at him with my wand pointed at his chest, Malfoy looking apprehensively from me to my wand, until finally, he bites.

"You - I'll - take away points - I'll put you in detention-" he says.

At this, I actually laugh, and it's then that I realise the fingers of my free hand are shaking with anger, so I clench them into fists to hide that.

"Do it," I say dangerously, "go on, Malfoy, put me in detention. I dare you."

"Why don't you dare me?" a high, girlish voice says behind us.

My blood runs cold. I lower my wand and look around, only to find, like I had expected, Umbridge standing there, with a furiously triumphant expression on her face. I look at her for a very long time, until I smile.

"Okay, Professor Umbridge, I dare you," I blurt out, still smiling, and I'll be damned if I don't regret that later, but at the moment, I don't really care.

For a moment, she looks surprised. Then she hitches her previous expression back on her face.

"Yes, I quite think a week of detentions will do you some good," she says.

That smile of hers, that smile reminds me of poisoned honey, widens, and in a furious desire to one-up her, I give her my sweetest, most innocent smile, giving a sarcastic little bow and saying, "It'd be my honour."

With that, I turn on my heel away me, shove my way past Crabbe and Goyle again, and begin walking quickly and furiously up the corridor, past Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who start following behind me. I don't know where I'm going, but I know who I want to find: Fred and George. I've mad up my mind.

"What was that?" Ron says, aghast.

"I've realised something," I reply, breathing heavily through my nose and looking around furiously, as though expecting for Fred and George to appear out of nowhere.

"And what's that?" Harry asks apprehensively.

"I've had it," I reply angrily. "I've had _enough_! I - am - _not_ taking this anymore! _Where are they?_ "

"Where are who?" asks Ron curelessly.

"Fred and George," I reply, with more anger than a question like that would require.

"Er - Hazel, do you think it's a good idea to go to Fred and George when you're like this?" Hermione says.

"Yes," I answer bluntly, turning the corner and quickening my pace, "it's a fucking fantastic idea, Hermione. Have any of you seen them?"

"Last I saw them was at dinner," Ron replies.

"Yes, but they can't _still_ be at dinner!" I state impatiently, shaking my head and rubbing my forehead, before letting out a frustrated noise and quickening my pace even more.

We reach the portrait hole soon, and I tell the Fat Lady the password rather aggressively, leaving her muttering darkly under her breath as she swings forward to reveal the portrait hole, and I scramble through it quickly, looking for Fred and George, to no avail. I swear violently under my breath when I can't find them, walking over to the armchairs by the fire, throwing myself into one of them and looking into the flames. Over the course of what could be minutes or an hour, I continue to mutter and swear darkly under my breath, my gaze shifting from the fire to the portrait hole so many times that I probably look very weird or very paranoid, but I don't care; I just need to see Fred and George.

When they finally enter the common room, I spring immediately to my feet, saying, " _Finally,_ " and striding over to them, stopping right in front of the two of them.

"Hey-" Fred begins, but I cut him off.

"I'll do it," I say bluntly. They seem to understand immediately, grinning triumphantly at each other, but I quickly add, "But I have one condition."

"And what's that?" Fred says, raising his eyebrows.

"We bring the Inquisitorial Squad right down with Umbridge," I answer. "And Snape, if we've got time. Deal?"

"Deal," they reply in unison, grinning deviously.

"Good," I say briskly, nodding. "So, what have you got planned so far?"

"Want to get started right away, do we?" George says.

"Making up for lost time," I reply, shrugging.

Their grins widen.

"Follow us, then," Fred says, and they lead the way up to their dormitory.

They tell us what they've got planned, and I make suggestions here and there, and after a while, when we've trailed off a bit, George asks me a question of his own.

"What made you make up your mind?" George asks.

"Well, I think I was always kind of leaning on saying yes - at least, after the fireworks I was," I reply. "But some things made me really make up my mind..."

With that, I launch into a recount of all that has happened lately; speaking out in Snape's class, what he had said to me afterwards, each of the brutal, horrible, painful detentions, my encounter earlier with Malfoy, and the detentions I now have with Umbridge. By the time I'm finished, I'm angry all over again, pacing up ad down the dormitory, running my hands through my hair and making very angry hand gestures as I speak.

"And I just - after that, it became very evident that if I didn't get a bit of revenge after all that's happened, I'd explode, so now here we are," I finish.

"Here we are," George nods. "And, no offense, but I'm kind of glad; we could do with your brains, Knight. You're smarter than you look, you know."

"Wish I could say the same for you," I reply distractedly.

They both laugh, and I watch them for a moment, before joining in myself. After a while, George says he's going to talk to Angelina (not that he was trying to get with her again, or anything, because he was _definitely_ over her, as he profusely insisted), and Fred and I are left alone. I'm still furious thinking of what has happened, pacing up and down the dormitory, breathing deeply.

He watches me for a while, before he says, "You really are pretty when you're angry, you know."

I stop pacing, looking at him with an odd expression on my face.

"I mean," he says quickly, seeming to think that I'm about to direct my anger at him, "not to, like, make it seem like I only care about your looks, or that you're only your looks, or something like that, because you know, why you're angry is important, and you could probably hex me into the next century like you did to Malfoy, and I respect that, but - but you really are." When I just raise my eyebrows further at this, he continues, "Your - your face gets all flushed and your eyes get all bright and you run your hands through your hair and you bite your lip a lot, and all I want to do is-"

"All you want to do is what?" I ask testily.

He looks at me for a moment, almost thoughtfully, before getting to his feet and walking over to me.

"All I want to do," he says in a low voice, taking my face in his hands, "is this."

With that, he kisses me, and it's hard to be mad when he does that, so instead of staying mad, I kiss him back. One of my hands go to his hair, playing with it and tugging on it, while the other goes to his chest, before moving it up to his shoulder.

"Still angry?" he asks me quietly, when we've pulled away.

"A bit," I reply, smiling, "not as much."

"Good," he says, grinning, "because you're prettiest when you're happy - in all aspects."

I smile wider at that, before leaning in to kiss him again.

We don't kiss for long, though, when George comes barging into the room, sees us, and loudly says, "Oi, get a room!"

Laughing but rather sheepish (well, that's mostly me, anyway), we pull away from each other, looking around at George.

"I don't know if you know this, brother, but this is a room," Fred says to George.

"Yes, but it's _my_ room," George replies. "And it's strictly against the rules that you two swap spit in _my_ room."

"It's my room, too," Fred retorts.

"And since when do you care about rules?" I add.

"I care very much about rules - when they're _my_ rules," he replies, as though this should be common knowledge to us. "Those are the only ones that matter."

"I'd say my rules matter a touch more, mate," Fred says, grinning cheekily.

"Oh, shut it," George says, throwing his pillow at his twin.

Fred laughs, before throwing it right back at him.

"You can stop fighting, because I think we can all agree that _my_ rules matter the most," I joke, grinning.

"Yeah, right," Fred and George scoff together, each picking up a pillow, and throw it at me.

I throw my arms up to protect my face, but it doesn't do much. When I put my arms down to reveal my slightly ruffled appearance, they burst out laughing, causing me to pick up the pillows, and throw one at each of them. It's like this that we launch into a very intense pillow fight - or a pillow war, as they like to call it.


	42. Easter Holiday

**Ours**

**Chapter Forty-Two: Easter Holiday**

 

"But why haven't you got Occlumency lessons anymore" I ask, frowning.

"I've told you," Harry mutters. "Snape reckons I can carry on my myself now that I've got the basics."

"So you've stopped having funny dreams?" Hermione says sceptically.

"Pretty much," Harry replies, not looking at her.

My eyes narrow slightly, and I watch him closely and sceptically, my head tilted slightly. He catches my eye for a moment, seems to notice the expression on my face, and looks away very quickly.

"Well, I don't think Snape should stop until he's absolutely sure you can control them!" Hemione says indignantly. "Harry, I think you should go back and ask-"

"No," Harry says forcefully. "Just drop it, Hermione, okay?"

It's the first day of Easter holidays and Hermione, as is her custom, has spent a large part of the day drawing up revision timetables for the four of us. Ron is extremely startled to discover that there's only six weeks left until our exams.

"how can that come as a shock?" Hermione demands, as she taps each little square on Ron's timetable with her wand so that it flashes a different colour according to subject.

"I dunno," Ron replies, "there's been a lot going on."

"Well, there you are," Hermione says, handing him his timetable. "If you follow that you should be fine."

Ron looks down at it gloomily, but then his face brightens.

"You've given me a day off each week!"

"That's for Quidditch practice," Hermione states.

The smile on Ron's face fades.

"What's the point?" he says dully. "We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister for Magic."

I glare at him and open my mouth to say something to that, but Hermione speaks before I can.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

I look around at Harry, who is staring blankly at the opposite wall of the common room while Crookshanks paws at his hand, trying to get his ears scratched.

"What?" he says quickly. "Nothing."

He seizes his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and starts perusing the index, though I get the impression that he's only pretending to be busy. Crookshanks finally gives up and slinks away under Hermione's chair.

"I saw Cho earlier," Hermione says tentatively. "She looked really miserable, too... have you two had a row again?"

"Wha - oh, yeah, we have," Harry answers.

"What about?" I ask.

"That sneak friend of hers, Marietta," Harry replies.

Understanding whooshes over me.

"I suppose she's angry about the jinx I put on her?" I say.

"That's most of it, yeah," Harry nods.

I nod, pause for a moment, then add, "Sorry about that."

"You're really sorry?" Hermione asks, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, I'm sorry for messing things up with Harry and Cho, but I'm not sorry for jinxing her," I reply. "A sneak of her calibre deserves a jinx like that."

"I don't blame either of you," Ron says angrily, setting down his revision timetable. "If it hadn't been for her..."

Ron dives into a very angry rant about Marietta, involving a variety of swear words and insults to her, Umbridge, and even fitting in a few for the Inquisitorial Squad. Harry participates in the discussion with angry expressions, nodding, and 'Yeah' whenever Ron stops to draw breath, but he still looks so upset and distracted, that I have to wonder if there are other things beside Cho and Marietta on his mind.

 

***

 

The weather grows breezier, warmer, and brighter as the Easter holidays pass, but I, along with the other fifth and seventh years, are trapped inside, revising, going back and forth to the library. Add that in with the fact that the Quidditch practices still aren't getting much better, Harry's mood seems to be getting worse and worse, and Fred and George are planning to leave very soon (as they tell me, anyway), and you get a very stressful holiday - if you could even call it a holiday.

As though to underline the importance of our upcoming exams, a batch of pamphlets, leaflets, and notices concerning various wizarding careers appears on the tables in Gryffindor tower shortly before the end of holidays, along with another notice on the board, which reads:

_CAREER ADVICE_

_All fifth years are required to attend a short meeting with their_

_Head of House during their first week of summer term to discuss_

_their future career. Time of individual appointments are listed below._

I look down the list and see that I'm expected in Professor McGonagall's office at ten o'clock on Thursday, meaning I'll be missing the end of Ancient Runes and the beginning of Potions. The fifth years all spend a considerable part of the final weekend of the Easter break reading all the information about the different careers that had been left there for our perusal.

"Well, I don't fancy Healing," Ron says on the second last day of holidays. He's immersed in a leaflet that carries the crossed bone-and-wand emblem of St. Mungo's at the front. "It says here that you need at least an 'E' at NEWT level in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. I mean... blimey... don't want much, do they?"

"Well, it's a very responsible job, it's it?" Hermione says absently, poring over a bright pink and orange leaflest, with the heading, 'SO YOU THINK YOU'D LIKE TO WORK IN MUGGLE RELATIONS?' "You don't seem to need many qualifications to liaise with Muggles; all they want is an OWL in Muggle Studies. 'Much more is your patience, enthusiasm, and good sense of fun!'"

"You'd need more than a good sense of fun to liaise with the Dursleys or the Martins," Harry says darkly, halfway through a pamphlet on wizard banking. "Good sense of when to duck, more like."

I let out a laugh, looking up from a leaflet on Aurors.

"Or a good sense of when to run," I suggest, and he laughs.

"Hey, listen to this," Harry says. "'Are you seeking a challenging careers involving travel, adventure, and substantial, danger-related treasure bonuses? Then consider a position with Gringotts Wizarding Bank, who are currently reqruiting Curse-Breakers for thrilling opportunities abroad...' They want Arithmancy, though; you could do it, Hermione!"

"I don't much fancy banking," Hermione says, now immersed in, 'HAVE YOU GOT WHAT IT TAKES TO TRAIN SECURITY TROLLS?'.

"Hey," says a voice, and I look around to see that Fred and George have joined us.

"Ginny's had a word with us about you," Fred states, stretching out his legs on the table in front of us and causing several booklets on careers with the Ministry of Magic to slide off into the floor. "She says you need to talk to Sirius?" I whip around to look at Harry, my brow furrowing slightly.

"What?" Hermione says sharply, her hand freezing halfway towards 'MAKE A BANG AT THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL ACIDENTS AND CATASTROPHES'.

"Yeah..." Harry says, clearly trying to sound casual," yeah, I thought I'd like to-"

"Don't be so ridiculous," Hermione interrupts, straightening up and looking at Harry as though she can't believe her eyes. "With Umbridge groping around in all the fires and frisking all the owls?"

"Well, we think we can find a way around that," George states, stretching and smiling. "It's only a simple matter of causing a diversion. Now, you might have noticed that we've been rather quiet on the mayhem front during the holidays?"

Which is very true. While Fred, George, and I have been causing chaos all across the castle, when the holidays had begun, we stopped, which is probably a little unsettling to those who aren't in on their plan.

"What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time?" Fred says. "No point at all, we answered ourselves. And, of course, we'd have messed up people's revision, as well, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do."

He gives Hermione a sanctimonious little nod, who looks rather taken aback at this act of thoughtfulness.

"But it's business as usual from Monday," Fred continues briskly. "And if we're going to be causing a bit of an uproar, why not do it so that Harry can have a little chat with Sirius?"

"Yes, but still," Hermione insists, with the air of someone explaining something very simple to someone very stupid, "even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?"

"Umbridge's office," Harry says quietly.

I look back round at him, frowning slightly, watching him closely, as though looking for any sign of him joking. But he looks to be completely serious.

"Are - you - insane," Hermione says in a hushed voice.

Ron has lowered his leaflet on the Cultivated Fungus Trade and is watching the scene before him warily.

"I don't think so," Harry replies, shrugging.

"And how are you going to get in there in the first place?2

"Sirius' knife," Harry answers immediately.

"Excuse me?"

"Christmas before last, Sirius gave me a knife that'll open any lock," Harry explains. "So even if she's bewitched the lock so that _Alohomora_ won't work, which I bet she has-"

"What do you think about this?" Hermione asks me.

I look from Hermione, to Fred and George, to Ron, to Harry, before looking back at Hermione shrugging slightly, "Well... I reckon Harry wouldn't do something like this to talk to Sirius unless it was really important, and I imagine he won't be an idiot while doing and will be careful, so..."

Hermione glares at me as though I've just betrayed her, turns to Ron and says, "What do _you_ think?"

Looking between the two of them, I have to fight not to smile, because the look on Hermione's face as she basically demands Ron for backup, and the startled and uncomfortable expression on Ron's face reminds me irresistibly of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"I dunno," Ron says. "If Harry wants to do it, it's up to him, isn't it?"

"Spoken like a true friend and Weasley," Fred says, clapping Ron on the back. "Right, then. We're thinking of doing it tomorrow, just after lessons, because it should cause maximum impact, with everybody in the corridors - Harry, we'll set it off in the east wing somewhere, draw her right away from her office - I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?" Fred says, looking at George.

"Easy," George confirms.

"What sort of diversion is it?" asks, Ron, but I think I know.

Fred, George, and I had al agreed that no matter what we did to wreak havoc, we'd save the best for last; the swamp. It was a substance that was a lot like Stinksap, only much more difficult to remove. Since they had already told me they were leaving on Monday, what else could it be?

"You'll see, little bro," Fred replies, he and George getting to his feed. "At least, you will if you trot along to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor round about five o'clock Monday."

 

***

 

The next afternoon, after Quidditch practice, I end up being last in the changing rooms, as I had escorted Kirke to the hospital wing after being hit in the head by a Bludger.

"See, Madam Pomfrey, it's not me this time!" I say, grinning cheekily at her once we reach the hospital wing.

"Yes, let's keep it that way, why don't we, Miss Knight?" Madam Pomfrey says, but there's a very small smile on her face.

I grin broader, before turning to Kirke, telling him to feel better soon, and hurrying back over onto the grounds and to the changing rooms. By the time I'm there, everyone is finished changing. Ron and Ginny offer to wait for me, but I shake my head and wave them away, telling them to go on without me.

"It won't kill me," I say, laughing a little, when they go to insist.

They nod and leave, closing the door behind them. I haven't been alone that long, however, when the door opens, then closes. I look around, but then frown upon seeing nobody there.

"Er, hello?" I say, my brow furrowed slightly. When nobody replies, I turn my body around completely, crossing my arms. "Anyone there?"

"Just me," a voice replies, right behind me.

I jump and whip around, only to find Fred in front of me, laughing. I cross my arms and glare up at him, but a laugh escapes my lips regardless.

"That wasn't funny," I exclaim. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"That's why you laughed, is it?" he retorts.

"Shut up, Weasley," I say, shoving him, making him laugh even harder. "What are you even doing here, anyway?"

"What, not happy to see me?" he asks, grinning.

"No, I'm not happy to see you, Weasley, I absolutely despise you. By the way, I'm breaking up with you," I say sarcastically, shaking my head and smiling slightly. "Come on, now seriously, what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see my oh-so kind girlfriend after what was sure to be a very tiring Quidditch practice, is that such a crime?" Fred replies.

"Suppose not," I reply. "Especially since it was quite tiring - if only because I had to take Kirke to the hospital wing for getting hit in the head with a Bludger."

"He's a _Beater_!" Fred says indignantly. "Shouldn't he be able to avoid that kind of stuff the _most_?"

"Yes, but I don't know if you've noticed, Fred, but we don't exactly have all-star Beaters," I state.

"Oh, I've definitely noticed," Fred says. "You don't know how painful it was for me to watch them play, knowing that I couldn't just go up and do it myself."

"At least you don't have to play with them," I scoff. "Imagine how painful _that_ is."

"That's true," he says, moving closer to me. "How brave of you to put up with that all the time."

"All in a day's work," I say cheekily, shrugging and smiling.

"Well, I hope this is all in a day's work, too," he says, before leaning down and kissing me.

I kiss him back immediately, placing my hands on his shoulder, before moving them to wrap around his neck. My common sense quickly catches up with me, though, and I realise that we're in the middle of the changing rooms and anyone could walk in at any moment.

"Fred - Fr - Fred - we can't - do this - here," I say in between kisses.

"And why - not?" he asks.

"Because we're in the middle of the changing rooms," I say firmly, pulling away from him with my hands on his shoulders. "Anybody could walk in-"

"Nah, they won't," he insists. "I saw them al go into the castle."

"Oh," I say. "But - but still - what if they've forgotten something - or - or-"

My words die in my throat, because he moves to kiss my neck. I let out a slight gasp, tilting my head slightly and moving my hand up to grab his wrist.

"Or what?" Fred asks me into my neck.

"You - complete - dickhead," I say, take his face in my hands, move him from my neck, and kiss him fiercely. He pulls away from me quickly, saying, "What if someone walks in?"

"I don't care," I state, and kiss him again.

He smiles as he kisses me back, wrapping his arms around my waist.

"Blimey, have you really got to leave?" I breathe, when we pull away.

"I know how much you're going to miss snogging me," he says, grinning.

"Just you in general, really," I insist.

"I'll miss you, too, Hazel," he insists. "Which is why I've decided to spend a great deal of my last full day with you, for more than one reason, too."

"What are your other reasons, then?"

"Well, for one thing, I realised that I wasn't going to be here for your birthday, and I wanted to give you your present in person," he says.

He pulls out a box from the pocket of his robes, handing it to me. I move away from him slightly to take it. I look from the present to him for a moment.

"Well, are you doing to look at the thing, or open it?" he finally says, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, it's a very pretty box," I say, grinning slightly. "But I suppose pretty can't last forever."

With that, I rip off the paper and open the box. Inside are two things; the first thing is a charm in the shape of a crescent moon, undoubtedly for the necklace he had gotten me next year. Beside the other charm of Midnight that he had given me, I had two other charms on that necklace: one in the shape of a Quaffle, and another that read my name in Ancient Runes.

"D'you like it?" he asks me. "It's a moon because-"

"- because you love me to the moon and back?" I suggest jokingly.

"You wish, Knight," he says, grinning. "It's for two reasons. One, because of the unreasonable amount of times that we stayed up until an ungodly time of night together; and, two, because next time you're up all night dreaming about me, you can remember that charm and know that I'm yours," he finishes, a cheeky grin on his face at the last part.

"I love it," I say honestly, grinning at him. "But, for the record, I don't dream about you."

"That's why you were saying my name in your sleep," he says, rolling his eyes and smiling at me.

"Whatever, you git," I say, before kissing him softly or a moment.

After we pull away, I take out the second gift, which is a box of Chocolate Frogs. I grin up at him.

"You really know how to win me over, don't you?" I say.

"It's a gift," he says, shrugging but grinning. He pauses for a moment, before nodding at the box, and saying, "Literally."

I let out a laugh.

"Well, I love them both. Thank you," I say gratefully.

"My pleasure, Knight," he says, smiling and kissing me quickly. "Now, as lovely as you look in your Quidditch uniform, and as wonderful of a place these changing rooms are, I'd rather not spend all my time in here, so go on and get changed."

I grin wider at that, put the gifts back into the box and set the box down on the bench, and duck behind one of the stalls to change quickly. Once finished, I take the charm, ad it to the necklace.

I also grab the box of Chocolate Frogs, and say, "And we can put this into use now."

"I've always liked the way you think," Fred states, grinning.

He grabs onto my hand and drags me out of the changing room, giving me no choice but to run to keep up with his pace. He doesn't stop running until we've reached the Black Lake. Once there, we start walking around the edge of it, eating Chocolate Frogs and occasionally swapping cards.

"Ha, look at that," Fred says after a while, holding up a card. "Dumbledore. Weird; I thought Umbridge would've banned these cards by now."

"Don't jinx it, because then she'll end up banning Chocolate Frogs altogether," I warn, laughing. "You might be leaving tomorrow, but I'm not, and I'd rather not have to go so long without Chocolate Frogs."

He grins.

"I promise not to bring it up to Umbridge, then," he says, holding a hand to his chest, and I laugh again.

After a while, we go over to the large beech tree by the lake, and sit down against the trunk - or, at least, I sit down. Fred, on the other hand, lies down with his head in my lap. I smile down at him fondly, before looking back up at the lake, playing with his hair with my fingers as we talked.

"You know, I'm starting to realise how beautiful this place is," Fred says. "I feel like I'm in first year again. I feel like I've got this whole future here, but I haven't - I'm bloody leaving _tomorrow_."

"Well, you do have a whole future ahead of you," I say. "Just not here. I'll be damned if the joke shop doesn't end up being the most popular shop in Diagon Alley."

"You think so?"

"You don't?"

"I do," he replies, grinning, "it's just good to know that you do, too."

"Bloody git," I mumble, hitting him lightly on the head.

"Oi," he says, rubbing his head and pretending to glare at me. "You know you like bloody gits.

"Nope," I reply, grinning. "I only like moderate gits, not complete, huge bloody gits, like you. You're out of luck, Weasley."

"Oh, please, you know you love me," he says, sitting up slightly and grinning cheekily at me.

"Ha, not a chance, I-" I begin, but I'm cut off by him leaning up and kissing me.

He gently pushes me down so I'm lying on the grass below, lowering himself onto me, as well. I groan against his lips, my hands going up to tug on his hair as he bites down on my lower lip.

"Not a chance?" he says, when he pulls away from me.

"I might have not been entirely truthful, with that one," I admit, grinning sheepishly at him, and he laughs.

"I suppose you just didn't want to admit your overwhelming love for me," he says.

"Or I didn't want to inflate your head even more," I say.

"Shut up, Knight," he says, sitting up and punching me lightly.

"Make me," I taunt, sitting up myself.

"With pleasure," he says, and kisses me again.

When we pull away, we leave our foreheads touching, and I take him in; all of him, from his expression to his scent to his voice and everything in between, and the time just before he's about to leave is the time that I want him to leave the least.

"I wish we weren't such idiots," he says in a low voice.

"What?" I say, taken aback.

"If we had just gotten ourselves together and admitted that we fancied each other _last_ year... we would've had so much more time..."

"Hey," I say, grabbing his shoulders, "come on, don't think like that. We've still got time. It's not the end, okay? Just promise you'll write to me until we can see each other again."

"Promise," he says.

"Good," I say, smiling, "because I would've murdered you if you didn't."

"As long as you murdered me with love," he mumbles.

I laugh, but I also notice that he still looks slightly disturbed. I take one of his hands in mine, and bring it up to my lips. I kiss down his fingers, before moving my lips down to his knuckles and kissing across them, looking up at him to find that he's watching me intently.

"God, you're bloody brilliant," he mutters, brings my face to his, and kisses me fervidly.

I smile as I kiss him back, though heat rushes to my face at his compliment.

When he pulls away from me, he holds me close to him and mutters, "Yeah, you're right, we're good."

And as we sit there together, I can't remember the last time I've been so certain of something.

 

***

 

Later that night, I'm walking back to the common room from the library with Harry, each of us carrying two books. The preoccupied and disturbed expression on his face worries me, as it had throughout the entirety of the holidays. I had kept silent about it, but I can't help it anymore, I had to ask.

"Something wrong, Harry?" I ask.

"What? No, nothing, I'm fine," he says, shaking his head. "Why?"

"Because you've seemed bothered this entire holiday," I reply.

"Well, it's nothing - actually, no, never mind, there is something," he finally says. "And I think you ought to know."

"Big surprise," I say sarcastically. "Go on, what is it?"

"It's about how I'm going to talk to Sirius tomorrow," he says. " _Why_ I want to talk to him..."

He launches into a recount of how he had found a Pensieve in Snape's office when Snape was gone, how his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had gone inside it to find himself in Snape's fifth year, after their Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL. He had seen his father, along with my father, Remus, Sirius, and Wormtail (the mention of him makes anger course through me). He had followed the Marauders to the beech tree by the lake (Snape staying rather close to the Marauders had enabled Harry to do this). Once there, James had taking out a Snitch (wasn't he a Chaser?) and began playing with it, ruffling his hair constantly and glancing over at a group of girls by the lake, which included my mother and Harry's mother. Sirius had stated he was bored, and James, noticing Snape getting to his feet and leaving, decided to use Snape as a form of entertainment.

Sirius and James had stood up, while Remus, my father, and Wormtail had all remained sitting. Remus was pretending to still be reading his book, though it was obvious he was disapproving; my father was watching Sirius and James with an expression of both disapproval and interest; Wormtail was watching James and Sirius in avid anticipation. When James called out to him, Snape immediately reached for his wand, but James Disarmed him before he could do anything. Sirius had used the Impediment Jinx on Snape, leaving him panting on the ground. By this point, students all around were watching, some worried, others amused. James had asked him how the exam had gone, and Sirius had said that his noise was touching the parchment, and they won't be able to read a word, since there'll be great grease marks all over it. Snape had ended up letting out a stream of both swear words and hexes, causing James to use the Scouring Charm on him, making Snape gag, choking him - until Harry's mother had arrived, at least.

James' hand had seemed to immediately jump to his hair when that happened. When Lily had asked him what Snape had done to James, he had said that it was more of the fact that he exists, causing several people to laugh, but Lily to get angrier. When she told him to stop again, James said that he would so long as she went out with him, and Lily had said that she'd rather go out with the Giant Squid.

It was then that Sirius noticed that Snape had managed to reach his wand, but he noticed too late; Snape had sent James a hex that made a gash appear on the side of his face. A second later, James had Snape hanging upside down, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny legs and grey underwear. Many people cheered; James, Sirius, and Wormtail roared with laughter; my father had grinned, letting out reluctant laughs himself. When Lily, who for a second, looked as though she was about to smile, demanded that James put Snape down, he did exactly that; causing Snape to fall to the ground in a crumpled heap. When he got to his feet, drawing his wand, my father seemed to notice and got to his feet then, putting a Full-Body Bind on him, causing Snape to fall to the floor once more, stiff as a board.

Lily demanded once more that they leave Snape alone, now drawing her own wand. Sirius and James eyed it warily, and my mother stepped onto the scene then. She put a hand on Lily's shoulder, pleading her not to do anything rash, while also giving my father a look. Lily refused to back down until the curse was off of Snape, so my mother again gave my father a look of both annoyance, expectancy, and pleading. My father looked from James and Sirius, back to Remus, to Lily, cast my mother a longing look (which I suppose made sense, since they didn't get together until near the end of their sixth year, as Remus told me), before giving Severus a dark look, and muttering the counter-curse.

My father told Snape that he was lucky Lily and my mother had arrived, but then Snape interrupts and says that he doesn't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like Lily. For a moment, Lily just blinked and stared at him. Then she recovered, said she wasn't bothered, and advised him to watch his pants. James had demanded that Snape apologise, but Lily said she didn't want him to make him apologise, as he was just as bad. When James protested, saying that he'd never call Lily what Snape had, she went on about how arrogant James was, finishing with stating that he made her sick, before turning on her heel and hurrying away. My mother shot the three boys resentful looks, before turning and hurrying after my mother.

James wondered aloud what it was with Lily, trying to act as though it was of no real importance to him, and Sirius answered wisely that she thought James was a bit conceited. My father, however, just stared after where my mother had disappeared, shook his head slightly, and wandered back to sit back down with Remus. James shook it off, and was just about to take Snape's pants off for all to see, when the present-day Snape had arrived and taken Harry out of the Pensieve, gripping onto Harry's arm so tightly that it left a bruise. Snape was by far angrier than Harry had ever seen him, throwing him to the floor with all his might and yelling to never repeat of what he saw, then kicking him out of his office and telling him to never return.

"... which is why I don't have anymore Occlumency lessons," Harry finishes, "and yeah, I wanted to talk to Sirius about-"

"Wait, what?" I say suddenly, looking round at him in disbelief, my shock and horror at what he had just told me disappearing momentarily.

"I don't have Occlumency lessons anymore because of what I saw," Harry says, looking slightly confused. "Why-?"

"WHAT?" I exclaim, horrified. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Snape just didn't really want to see me after what happened-"

"Harry, you told me that you didn't need the lessons anymore!" I exclaim.

"Well, yeah, I did, but-" he began.

"Harry, you need those lessons more than ever! It's the one thing Dumbledore told you to keep doing before he left! Your connection with Voldemort, your ability to be able to see into his mind, it's getting stronger and stronger, and if Voldemort finds out about it... the things he could do to you, Harry... I can't believe Snape!" I continue furiously, letting out a noise of anger. "Okay, actually, yes, I can, it's exactly the kind of thing he'd do. The stupid little git, he'll never grow up, will he? I cannot _believe_ him, does he not realise how important it is that you learn Occlumency? Can't he forget about his stupid pride for three fucking seconds and focus on what's _actually_ important? I-"

"Okay, okay, I get it, but - but what about my dad? And your dad? And Sirius?" he asks.

"What? Oh, yes, right, what about them?" I say distractedly.

"What do you think about what I told you about them?" he says, slightly annoyed.

"Oh, right," I say. "Erm, they were a bit... arrogant."

"A bit?" Harry repeats incredulously. "Hazel, they were _awful_. They bullied people just for the fun of it. People always told me how great my dad was, but he didn't seem all that great... Sirius always talked about how great he was, too, but look at him! He wasn't much better. And Remus, too, he just sat there and let it happen..."

"I don't know," I say slowly. "I'm sure you just saw him in a bad light... I mean, Snape and your father hated each other, right? Maybe Snape hexed your dad whenever he got the chance, too."

"Yes, but still, he only did it because Sirius was bored and Snape was there... how many more people did he do that to?" Harry said. "My mum... my mum was alright, but my dad... she hated him... sometimes I wonder why - why she even married him. If he - he-"

"If he forced her to marry him?" I say quietly. Harry nods. "Harry, you can't - you can't let this one thing completely warp your image of our father like that. You need to remember that he - that he died trying to protect you and your mum. A stupid decision he made when he was younger doesn't make him evil. Your dad was a great man, Harry, I'm sure of it."

"How can you be so sure? You must be a little suspicious of your dad, too," he insists.

I let out a small sigh.

"I - I suppose I am," I say. "I mean, it's not the greatest thing to hear about your dad, especially since you never got to know him, so it's not like you can just know that he grew up alright, but... but I'm - I'm not just going to give up on my dad and write him off as a horrible person over this... people have said good things about my dad and yours, Harry, and they can't _all_ have terrible judgement. Though they were giant gits when they were our age, I'm sure they turned out alright. But I do get if you need to talk to Sirius. Just do me one favour."

"Anything," Harry says, looking round at me.

"Ask about my dad, while you're at it," I say. "Though I'm sure that he wasn't a completely terrible person, hearing that he was a bullying git when he was my age is still a bit upsetting. So please?"

"Sure," he says, nodding and smiling slightly.

"Thanks," I say, smiling back. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

I turn around and start jogging back down the corridor.

"Where are you going?" he asks after me.

"Library," I reply, turning back to face him and walking backwards.

"We just went!" Harry says incredulously.

"Yes, and I just realised I need to go back," I insist. "Go on, I'll see you back in the common room."

He nods and waves, turning around and starting to walk up the corridor.

"And Harry?" I call. When he turns, I say, "Don't sweat it about your dad, mate, I mean it. A couple of stupid mistakes made in the past doesn't define a person."

"Thanks," he says, smiling gratefully at me, though he doesn't look entirely reassured.

I nod and smile again, before turning around and jogging back to the library, intent on finding and soon reading up on as many books on Legilimency and Occlumency as possible. If Snape isn't going to help him, then I'll have to find out as much information as I can, to ensure that if the situation ever arises, and I don't doubt that it will, I'll be able to help him as best as I can.

 

***

 

The next day, I wake up with a very odd, heavy sort of feeling in my chest: Fred and George are leaving today. It's all I can think about as I dress, as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I go down to breakfast, as we head up to History of Magic. Once at History of Magic, however, Hermione drives the subject out of my mind, as she starts attempting to dissuade Harry from breaking into Umbridge's office, just as inattentive as Harry and Ron of the lesson for the first time in her life.

"... and if she does catch you there, apart from being expelled, she'll be able to guess that you were talking to Snuffles and this time I expect she'll force you to drink Veritaserum and answer her questions..."

"Hermione," Ron interrupts in a low and indignant voice, "are you going to stop telling off Harry and listen to Binns, or am I going to have to take my own notes?"

"You take notes for a chance, it won't kill you!"

By the time we reach the dungeons, neither Harry nor Ron are speaking to Hermione, but she takes their silence to her advantage, maintaining an uninterrupted flow of dire warnings, all uttered under her breath in a vehement hiss that makes Seamus spend five minutes checking under his cauldron for leaks.

Meanwhile, I keep glancing over at Snape whenever he's anywhere near Harry, wondering how he's going to react to him, but Snape seems to be acting as though Harry is invisible. Of course, considering the fact that whenever Snape talks to Harry, it's always insults and snide remarks, this is hardly a bad thing; in fact, it seems that in the absence of negative comments from Snape, Harry works better than ever.

Harry and I turn in our potion samples together. It's when we both turn around that we hear a smash and Malfoy give a yell of gleeful laughter. We whip around to find Harry's potion sample lying in pieces on the floor, and Snape surveying him with a look of gloating pleasure.

"Whoops," he says softly. "Another zero, then, Potter."

My mouth actually falls open in shock. Teachers could not deliberately sabotage a student. But since when has Snape ever been fair?

Harry goes back to his cauldron, clearing intending on getting another sample, but once he's there, he finds his cauldron to be quite empty.

"I'm sorry!" Hermione says, her hand over her mouth. "Harry, I'm so sorry, I thought you were finished, so I cleared up!"

Harry doesn't say anything, and when the bell rings, he's the first one out of the dungeon. It's clear that he has a lot on his mind, so it's doesn't surprise me when he forgets that he has his meeting with McGonagall about career paths and only remembers when Ron asks him in Divination why he's not in McGonagall's office.

When we get to Defence Against the Dark Arts, we're greeted by a Professor Umbridge who's breathing very heavily and looks very angry.

"I hope you've thought better about what you were planning to do, Harry," Hermione whispers, as we open our books to 'Chapter Thirty-Four: Non-Retaliation and Negotiation', "because Umbridge seems really mad already..."

My eyes keep flickering towards the clock, my mind seeming to form a countdown until five o'clock... until the diversion is set off... until Fred and George leave...

"Dumbledore sacrificed himself to keep you in school, Harry!" Hermione says, raising her book to hide her face from Umbridge. "And if you get thrown out today then it will all have been for nothing!"

My fingers drum on the table, biting down on my lip as my eyes look over repeatedly at the clock, as though the time will have changed drastically in the ten seconds after I had looked at it last. If only this class could just _end_ , then I could see them once more before they leave...

"Harry, don't do it, please don't do it!" Hermione says in anguished tones, when the bell at last rings at the end of the class, but I barely hear her, because I'm already at the door.

I sprint through the castle, hurrying over to the east wing. When at least I've made it to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor, I find them.

"How's everything?" I ask, hurtling myself forward to draw level with them.

"Fine," Fred replies, looking surprised to see me.

"Everything in place? Ready to go?" I continue. "Nothing gone wrong - or out of place - or - or-"

"Everything's fine," Fred says firmly, nodding.

"How could it not be, with you checking it over a million times," George adds, and I smile sheepishly.

"Well, I just wanted to check everything - see if it's all good - help out a bit-" I begin.

This is partly true, but still partly a lie. Most of my reasoning for coming was to see them again and say goodbye, because I get the impression that I wouldn't have the time to do so later.

"No, you don't," George says firmly shaking his head. "Hazel, you and your brain of yours have helped up big time, but we're meaning to get caught with this, and we might be leaving, but you're not, and we don't want you getting dragged down with us if you're staying. You go on and stay out of trouble."

"But by stay out of trouble, we mean make trouble, just don't get caught," Fred adds, winking.

"I think I can do that," I say, nodding and grinning. Then I say, "I'm going to miss you gits."

With that, I pull Fred into a hug and kiss him quickly, trying not to think about the fact that that's the last time I'm going to be able to do that for a while.

"And you have to write," I say commandingly to George, pulling him into a hug. "I've already sworn this git to it, but I want you to, too."

"Only because you can't live without communicating with me," George says in mock-arrogance, and I laugh.

I step away from the two of them, look at  for a moment, before saying, "Good luck out there - not that you'll need it."

"Why are you only nice to us when we're about to leave?" Fred asks, grinning.

"What can I say, goodbyes bring the sappy side out of me," I reply, shrugging and grinning back at them.

"Speaking of which, it's now or never, especially if we want to buy Harry sometime, so I suppose this is it," George says.

"Right," I say, nodding. "I'll see two around."

"Yeah, you will," they agree, grinning wickedly at me, and I have to return to smile.

Then, as though this is only a short-term goodbye, I smile and wave at them, before hurrying away. Two corridors away, I hear the unmistakable sound of the diversion being set off, and smile to myself. A couple moments later, Umbridge runs past me, going as fast as her short legs can carry her, and I have to bring a hand to my mouth to stop myself from laughing.

I take my time after that, slowing my pace and almost drifting down the corridors vaguely, deciding to take one of the longer routes. When I at last reach the Entrance Hall, I find that I'm not alone. In fact, a crowd consisting of most of the school is forming all around the walls to form a great ring, just like how it had been the night Trelawney had been sacked. Prominent onlookers are the members of the Inquisitorial Squads, and Peeves, who is bobbing overhead, is gazing down at not Trelawney this time, but Fred and George, who both have the look of two people who had just been cornered.

"So!" Umbridge says triumphantly, and I se that she's standing on one of the steps of the marble staircase, looking down at Fred and George. "So - you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?"

"Pretty amusing, yeah," Fred answers, looking up at her without the slightest trace of fear.

Finch elbows his way to Umbridge, almost crying with happiness, which makes my smile fade slightly. Anything that makes Filch that happy can't be good.

"I've got the forms, Headmistress!" he says, waving around a piece of parchment. "I've got the forms and I've got the whips waiting... oh, let me do it now..."

My eyes widen. Umbridge had let Filch continue in whipping students as a form of punishment.

"Very good, Argus," Umbridge says. "You two," she continues, gazing down at Fred and George, "are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers at my school."

"You know what? I don't think we are," Fred says, then turns to his twin. "George, I think we've outgrown full-time education."

"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," George says lightly.

"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?" asks Fred.

"Definitely," George confirms.

Before Umbridge can say a word, they both raise their wands and cry, " _Accio Brooms_!"

I hear a loud crash somewhere to my right. Looking in that direction, I see Fred and George's broomsticks, one trailing a heavy chain and iron peg, are hurtling along the corridor to their owners; they turn left, streak down the stairs, and stop sharply in front of Fred and George, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.

"We won't be seeing you," Fred tells Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.

"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," George interjects, mounting his own broom. Fred looks around the assembled students, at the silent, watchful crowd.

"If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley - Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," he announces. "Our new premises!"

"Special discount to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat," George adds, pointing at Umbridge.

"STOP THEM!" Umbridge shrieks, but it's too late; as the Inquisitorial Sqaud closes in, Fred and George kick off, flying several feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below.

Fred looks across Hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level about the crowd.

"Give her hell from us, Peeves,"

And Peeves, who I've never seen take an order from a student before, sweeps his belled hat from his head and springs to salute as Fred and George wheel to tumultuous applause from the students blow and speed out of the open front doors into the glorious sunset outside.

 _Yeah,_ I think, grinning broadly and cheering with the rest as the figures that are Fred and George become smaller and smaller, _they'll be alright._


	43. Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw

**Ours**

**Chapter Forty-Three: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw**

 

I might be speaking too soon, but it seems that Fred and George's escape will soon become the stuff of Hogwarts legend. At the very least, people are already getting onto the part with lying and exaggerating to make the tale even more wild and exciting than it already is; within a week, even eye-witnesses are swearing up and down that they saw Fred and George dive-bomb Umbridge with their brooms and pelt her with Dungbombs before zooming out the doors. Not to mention, in the immediate aftermath of their departure, there is a great wave of discussion of copying them. I frequently hear students say things like 'Honestly, sometimes I just feel like jumping on my broom and leaving this place' and 'One more lesson like that and I might just do a Weasley.'

Fred and George have made sure that they're not going to be forgotten anytime soon. For one thing, they haven't left instructions on how to remove the swamp that now fills the corridor on the fifth floor of the east wing. Umbridge and Filch have both been observed trying to remove it, but with no success. Eventually, the area is roped off and Filch, gnashing his teeth together furiously, is given the job of punting students across it to get to class. Of course, I know exactly how to remove it, but I haven't been asked, and even if I am asked, I have no intention of revealing that bit of information. I'm certain that teachers like McGonagall and Flitwick could remove it in a heartbeat, too, but they seem to much prefer watching Umbridge struggle.

Then there's the two broom-shaped holes in the door of Umbridge's office, through which Fred and George's Cleansweeps had smashed to rejoin their owners. Filch had fitted Umbridge a new door and relocated Harry's Firebolt to the dungeon, where it's rumoured that Umbridge has set an armed security troll to guard it. But that's the least of Umbridge's worries.

Inspired by Fred and George, a great number of students are now vying for the position of Troublemakers-In-Chief. In spite of the new door, Lee manages to slip a nifflers into Umbridge's office, tearing the office apart in search for shiny objects and leaping on Umbridge when she enters and attempts to remove her rings from her stubby fingers. Dungbombs and Stink Pellets are now being dropped so frequently that it is becoming the new fashion for students to perform the Bubble-Head Charm on themselves before leaving lessons.

Filch prowls the corridors with a horsewhip ready in his hands, desperate to catch misbehaving students, but there are now so many of them that he doesn't know which way to turn. The Inquisitorial Squad tries to help him, but odd things seem to be happening to them. Warrington of the Slytherin Quidditch team reports to the hospital wing with an odd skin condition that makes him look as though he is covered in cornflakes; Pansy Parkinson, to Hermione's delight, misses an entire day of lessons because she has sprouted antlers.

"What?" I say, unable to stop myself from grinning when Hermione turns to me almost expectantly, beaming. "What are you looking at me like that for? It definitely wasn't me and you're definitely not going to report me for it."

"Definitely," she agrees, her grin widening.

Meanwhile, it becomes extremely clear to everybody just how many Skiving Snackboxes Fred and George had managed to sell before leaving. Umbridge only has to enter her classroom before the assembled students begin to faint, vomit, develop dangerous fevers, or else spout blood from both nostrils. Shrieking with rage, she attempts to trace these mysterious symptoms to the source, but all the students stubbornly tell her that they're suffering from a rapidly growing illness called 'Umbridge-itis.' After putting four successive classes in detention and still failing in discovering the source, she is forced to allow the bleeding, swooning, sweating, and vomiting students to leave her classroom in droves.

But nobody can top that master of chaos, Peeves, who seems to have taken Fred's parting words to heart. Cackling madly, he soars through the school, flipping tables, bursting out of blackboards, toppling statues and vases; twice he shuts Mrs. Norris in a suit of armour, from which she is rescued, yowling madly, by the furious caretaker. Filch's anger, as always, doesn't affect Peeves; he smashes lanterns and snuffs out candles, juggles torches over the heads of many screaming students, causes neatly stacked piles of parchment to topple into fires or out of windows. He floods the second floor when he pulls off all the taps in the bathrooms, drops a bag of tarantulas in the middle of the Great Hall during breakfast, and whenever he fancies a break, sends hours at a time floating over Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries everytime she speaks.

Somewhere along the way, Peeves and I begin something of a partnership, after I end up assisting him in one of his pranks. He does things more openly than I do, since they can't expel _him_ , but I still do participate in it actively. On one occasion, Peeves distracts Umbridge by throwing Dungbombs down a corridor on the first floor like they're flower petals at a wedding, and while she is chasing after him, I sneak into Umbridge's office, completely destroy her desk, and escape long before she returns, bearing all the sigs of raging and losing a war against Peeves and a great deal of Dungbombs. Another time, Filch becomes convinced that Peeves had stolen the very long list of things banned at Hogwarts, and the roles are very reversed between Peeves and I, as while Filch screams at the top of his voice at Peeves, demanding for the list back and working in a few hateful words in between, I look down upon the scene from the top of one of the ledges that are higher up, closer to the ceiling, smiling vaguely as I pretend to fan myself with the list. Of course, this partnership between Peeves and I doesn't mean that he has stopped messing with me like he does other students, and it doesn't mean that I still don't get annoyed with him, but it's still a rather enjoyable relationship.

None of the staff but Filch seems too bothered with Peeves' antics. In fact, a week after Fred and George's departure, I witness McGonagall walking right past Peeves, seeming to ignore his efforts in loosening a crystal chandelier, and I'm quite certain that I hear her tell him out of the corner of her mouth, 'It unscrews the other way.'

To top it all, Montague, who had been found in one of the toilets, seems to have not yet recovered from his experience with the Vanishing Cabinet; he remains to be confused and disorientated and his parents are seen one Tuesday morning striding up the front drive, looking extremely angry.

"Should we say something?" Hermione whispers worriedly, pressing her cheek to the window so that she can see Mr. and Mrs. Montague striding inside. "About what happened to him? In case it helps Madame Pomfrey cure him?"

"'Course not," Ron says indifferently, "he'll recover."

"Anyway, more trouble for Umbridge, isn't it?" Harry adds, looking satisfied.

He and Ron both tap the teacups we're supposed to be charming with our wands. Harry's sprout four very short legs that can not reach the table and wriggle helplessly in midair. Ron's grow four very thin, spindly legs that hoists the cup off the desk with great difficulty, trembles for a few seconds, then folds, causing the cup to crack in two.

" _Reparo_!" Hermione says quickly, mending Ron's cup with her wand. "That's all very well, but what if Montague's permanently injured?"

"Who cares?" Ron replies irritably, while his teacup drunkenly stands up again, knees trembling violently. "Montague shouldn't have tried to take all those points from Gryffindor, should he? Besides, if you want to worry about anyone, Hermione, it should be me!"

"You?" she says, catching her teacup as it scampers happily away across the desk on four sturdy little willow-patterned legs and replacing it in front of her. "Why should I be worried about you?"

"When Mum's next letter final gets through Umbridge's screening process," Ron begins bitterly, holding his teacup up while it struggles to carry its weight, "I'm going to be in deep trouble. I wouldn't be surprised if she's sent another Howler."

"Why?" I ask, baffled, grabbing onto my teacup before it runs right off the desk.

"It'll be my fault Fred and George have left, you wait," he replies darkly. "She'll say I should've stopped them from leaving, I should've hung onto the end of their brooms, or something... yeah, it'll be all my fault."

"Well, if she does say anything, that'll be really unfair, you couldn't have done anything!" Hermione says. "But I'm sure she won't, I mean, if it's really true they've got a premises in Diagon Alley, they must've been planning this for ages."

"Yeah, but that another thing, how did they get the premises?" Ron wonders aloud, hitting his teacup so hard with his wand that it collapses again and lays twitching before him. "It's a bit dodgy, isn't it? They'll have needed loads of Galleons for a place in Diagon Alley. She'll want to know what they've been up to, to get their hands on that kind of gold."

"I've been wondering that for ages now, too," I say, nodding. "I've tried asking them, but they wouldn't budge. I almost tricked it out of them a couple times, mind you, but I still didn't get anything... keeping secrets is almost a talent of theirs, who knows with them?"

As I say those last words, I look over at Harry, who suddenly looks very uncomfortable. I look at him suspiciously for a moment, before Hermione speaks and I look over at her.

"Yes, that's occurred to me, too," she states thoughtfully, allowing her teacup to job in circles around Harry's, whose stubby legs still cannot touch the desktop. "I've been wondering if Mundungus has persuaded them to sell stolen goods or something awful."

"He hasn't," Harry says curtly.

"How do you know?" Ron, Hermione, and I say in unison.

"Because - " he begins, but then hesitates for a moment - "because they got the gold from me. I gave them my Triwizard winnings last June."

There's a shocked silence, until Hermione's teacup jobs right over the edge of the desk and smashes onto the floor.

"Are you being serious?" I say, awed.

"Yes, I am," Harry confirms.

"Oh, Harry, you didn't!" Hermione says.

"I did," Harry replies. "And I don't regret it. I don't need the gold and they'll be great at running that joke shop."

"But this is excellent!" Ron says, looking thrilled. "It's all your fault, Harry -  Mum can't blame me at all! D'you mind if I tell her?"

"Yeah, I suppose you'd better," Harry answers dully. "Especially if she thinks they're receiving stolen cauldrons, or something."

Hermione doesn't speak for the rest of the lesson, but I get the distinct impression that her self-restraint is bound to crack before long. Sure enough, once we've left the castle for break and are standing around in the weak May sunshine, she fixes Harry with a beady eye and opens her mouth to speak.

"It's no good nagging me, it's done," Harry says before she can speak. "Fred and George have got the gold - spent a good bit of it, too, by the sounds of it - and I couldn't get it back from them even if I wanted to. So save your breath, Hermione."

"I wasn't going to say anything about Fred and George!" Hermione insists in an injured voice. Ron scoffs in disbelief and Hermione throws him a very dirty look, before saying angrily, "I wasn't! As a matter of fact, I was going to ask Harry when he's going to go back to Snape and ask for more Occlumency lessons!"

Though Harry hadn't given the details of his discussion with Sirius, he did say that Sirius wanted Harry to resume in his Occlumency lessons.

"You can't tell me you've stopped having funny dreams," Hermione said, "because Ron told Hazel and I you were muttering to yourself in your sleep again last night."

Harry throws Ron a furious look, and the latter has the grace to look ashamed of himself.

"You were only muttering a bit," he mumbles. "Something like 'just a bit further.'"

"I dreamed I was watching you lot play Quidditch," Harry says brutally. "I was trying to get you to stretch a bit further to get the Quaffle."

Ron's ears turn red. While Ron looks embarrassed, I shoot Harry a very angry look, even though I know he hasn't actually dreamed anything like that. When you have to watch Ron lose his self-confidence the way he does all the time, you don't take kindly to anyone lowering it further.

"You are trying to block your mind, aren't you?" Hermione says, looking at Harry beadily. "You are still going with your Occlumency?"

"Of course I am," Harry says, sounding as though this question was insulting, but he still doesn't look at her.

"You know," Ron says, ears still flaming red, "if Montague doesn't recover before Slytherin play Hufflepuff, we might have a chance of winning the Cup."

"Yeah, I s'pose so," Harry says.

"I mean, we've won one, lost one - if Slytherin lose to Hufflepuff next Saturday-"

"That's right," I say, nodding. "We've still got a chance."

 

***

 

A few days after this, Umbridge invites me into her office just before dinner. I ignore the looks on Harry, Ron, and Hermione's faces, as they look as though the worst has come, and go to follow her. Harry, however, catches my arm to stop me. I look around at him in surprise.

"I hope you're not thirsty," he says quietly.

Immediately, I understand; Umbridge likes to spike her drinks with Veritaserum when she wants the truth out of people. I smile reassuringly at him.

"Quite the opposite," I state, and he smiles back, letting go of my arm.

I tell them I'll see them soon, before turning around and following Umbridge, stuffing my hands in my pockets and forcing myself to look bored and unconcerned.

When we reach her office, Umbridge sits down at her desk, before turning to me and saying, "Sit."

I almost want to disobey, but then decide against it and sit in the chair across from her. I glance down at the wooden block on her desk that reads in golden letters 'HEADMISTRESS' and try not to throw up. Umbridge notices me looking, looks from the block, back to me, an infuriatingly smug expression on her face.

"So," she says, in that sweet, girlish tone, "what would you like to drink?"

It's odd how such an innocent question sounds like a death sentence, when it comes from her, when I know exactly what would happen if I accepted a drink from her...

"Nothing, Professor," I reply politely, shaking my head and smiling.

"Oh, don't be silly," she says. "You must have something. Tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?"

"I'm fine, really," I say, forcing myself to keep the polite expression on my face.

"Oh, come now," she says, her voice now dangerously sweet. "I insist."

It's then that I realise that there's no getting out of this one, and say, "I'll have tea, then, please."

She gets up to make the tea, then makes quite a performance of adding the milk with her back to me, and as I watch her, I think that even if Harry didn't tell me about the Veritaserum, it would've become painfully obvious to me now. She bustles back around the desk to me, handing it to me with a sinisterly sweet expression.

"Here you are, drink it before it gets cold, won't you? Well, now, Miss Knight, I've been thinking, and I decided that it's best if you and I have a chat concerning... well, concerning quite a few things," she says. When I don't do anything but look at her, she says, "You're not drinking up!"

I hesitate for half a second, before bringing the cup to my lips. I pretend to take a sip, but keep my mouth determinedly closed as I do. Umbridge smiles.

"Good, very good," she says, before leaning forward a little and saying, "So... what do you know about Albus Dumbledore?"

I blink, lowering my cup and looking at her blankly.

"Er, I dunno, just what everybody else knows," I reply, shrugging, even though that's not really true; there are things about Albus Dumbledore that I think others wouldn't know, like the fact that he runs a secret society dedicated to stopping Lord Voldemort.

"Drink up, drink up," she urges, still smiling. "Are you quite sure of that, Miss Knight? I know you were very deeply involved in the group that Dumbledore had formed, I doubt that there's nothing you know on him and his whereabouts."

"But I don't know anything about his whereabouts, Professor, and I don't know anything about him that would interest you much," I say truthfully.

I quickly take another pretend sip. When I lower the cup, I find her looking at me closely.

"Very well," she says at last. "What of Fred and George Weasley, then?"

"Well, they've said where they are, haven't they?" I say. "Number ninety-three-"

"Not about their location," Umbridge snaps. "About what they did to my school before their departure."

"Well, what can be done about that, Professor?" I say, forcing my voice to stay polite. "They've already left, you can hardly punish them now."

"I can't punish them, no," she agrees, "but I can punish you, if I find that you assisted them. And I would have a lot of reason to believe that, wouldn't I?"

"What kind of reason, if you don't mind me asking?" I ask, hoping I sound unconcerned.

"You are very close with them, aren't you? You've been involved in their schemes numerous times," she answers.

"Not this time," I lie, shrugging slightly. "I was much too busy for any of that, anyway."

"Busy with what?" she says.

"Quidditch practice," I reply, "and my schoolwork."

"You might want to be careful, Miss Knight," Umbridge informs me, watching me closely as I hasten to pretend to take another sip of the tea. "You wouldn't want to get caught into any more trouble... but if you do, I wouldn't mind getting the message I'm trying to give you to sink in even more."

She smiles and nods at my left arm. I glance down at it, knowing that beneath my robes, there's a scar, now fading away but still visible, reading, 'I am disrespectful and incompetent.' My face hardens momentarily, before looking back up at Umbridge and forcing myself to smile pleasantly.

"I hardly think that would be necessary, Professor," I say, before again pretending to drink from the cup.

"I hope so, Miss Knight," Umbridge says. "So could you please tell me how to get rid of the swamp in the east wing."

"I have no idea," I reply. "They didn't tell anybody how. I suppose that was the point."

"Come on, Miss Knight," she says, a bit of forcefulness surfacing beneath the sickly sweet smile. "You've always been very involved in the antics of those two, I refuse to believe that you know absolutely nothing."

"Well, it's like you said, Professor, isn't it?" I point out, smiling. "I'm incompetent."

Her eyes flash, and that's when I feel more nervous forever, and just to give myself something to do, pretend to take yet another sip of tea.

"You listen here, Knight, I-" she begins angrily, but at that moment, there's a knock on the door.

"Headmistress?" Filch's voice wheezes through the door. "Are you in?"

"Yes, yes, come in, Argus," Umbridge replies impatiently, and the door opens to reveal Filch standing at the doorway.

"What's happening? What's this one done now?" he asks, nodding at me, and I raise my eyebrows slightly.

"Never mind that, why are you here, Argus?" Umbridge says.

"Peeves, ma'am, he's set off Dungbombs on the seventh floor," Filch replies.

"Again? Very well, I'll take care of it right now," Umbridge says, and I try not to laugh, because it's quite plain to me that Umbridge will never be able to take care of it. "Miss Knight, that will conclude our meeting. Off you go to dinner."

She gets to her feet and hurries out of her office. Filch stands and looks at me, until Umbridge's impatient voice calls, "Argus!" and he turns away and follows her quickly. I wait for several moments, before deciding it's safe, dumping the full cup of tea into a nearby potted plant, get to my feet, and hurry away.

 _Thank you, Peeves,_ I think as I close the door behind me.

 

***

 

Later that night, when Ron and Hermione have both gone to bed, I put down my quill and look over at Harry.

"You know, you never told me what Sirius said," I inform him. "About him and your dad and my dad..."

"Oh - oh, right," he says, putting down his own quill and looking at me. "They just - Remus was there, too - they just kind of said what you did. That Snape and my dad were always enemies and that my dad did have a bit of a big head, but he deflated it in his seventh year and that's when he and my mum went out. I also asked about your dad, and they said he didn't like hexing people just because he could, but he couldn't help it sometimes, especially with Snape."

"That's good to hear," I say, smiling and nodding. "And d'you feel better?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do," he answers, and he looks as though he means it. "Remus - Remus also said he'd talk to Snape about getting him to teach me Occlumency again."

"Really?" I say, straightening up, relief washing over me. "That's wonderful."

"I'd hardly call it that," Harry says. "Those lessons were awful."

"They won't be so awful when you've stopped having these dreams," I state. "Besides, don't you think it's only a matter of time before Ron and Hermione realise that you actually _do_ still need those lessons, with you muttering in your sleep and everything?" At the annoyed look on Harry's face, my eyes narrow, and I say, a little forcefully, "They're _worried_ about you! And just as well, if you're seeing into Lord Voldemort's mind every night!"

"Not every night," Harry says irritably. "Anyway, as long as Ron doesn't bring it up to Hermione again..."

"Speaking of Ron," I say, crossing my arms. "What were you playing at, with that Quidditch comment to Ron? You know how he gets whenever stuff like this happens!"

"What was he playing at, going to Hermione?" Harry retorts, and at the furious look I give him, he says, "I know I probably shouldn't have said it, though... he's really not getting any better?"

I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair.

"He doesn't think he's any good, and it's ruining him," I reply. "It's not like he's bad, because he's not. You know it, you've seen him when he's on form and confident. But then he messes up once, and he gets all embarrassed, so then he messes up even more, and then people start making comments, so he gets even more embarrassed and even less confident, so he messes up again and again and again and again... it's a vicious cycle. It wouldn't be so bad if people stopped going on about it and making comments... and," I continue furiously, "that stupid Weasley is Our King song. If I have to hear that stupid thing again, I swear to God, I'm going to-"

I suddenly stop dead, because at that moment I see Lee walking towards the portrait hole and an idea strikes me. If Slytherin can make a song that insults Ron, why can't Gryffindor makes one that compliments him?

"I'll be right back," I mutter to Harry, before getting to my feet and calling, "Hey, Lee, wait up!"

He looks round at me, a confused expression on his face as I jog over to him.

"What's up?" he asks.

"I've got a proposition for you, Jordan," I reply, following him out of the portrait hole.

"What kind of proposition?" he says.

"One revolving around Quidditch," I answer. I explain my plan quickly to him, and upon finishing, ask, "So, will you do it?"

"What's in it for me, Knight?" he asks me, slightly jokingly.

"Well, let me answer that question with another one," I say. "How much do you want Gryffindor to win?"

 

***

 

The final Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, is to take place on the last weekend of May. Although Slytherin had been narrowly defeated by Hufflepuff in their last match, most people are not daring to hope for a victory, due to (though nobody says it to him) Ron's abysmal goal-keeping record. Ron, however, has seemed to have found a new optimism.

"I mean, I can't get any worse, can I?" he grimly tells Harry, Hermione, and I over breakfast on the morning of the match. "Nothing to lose now, is there?"

Angelina calls us over early, wanting to get a look at the conditions before the match. Before I do, I hurry over to Lee, pulling him to his feet to talk privately with him.

"So, you've done it, then?" I ask quietly. "You've talked to people, you've convinced them?"

"Yep," Lee replies, nodding. "They'll do it. But Ron's got to start off well first, no matter what I said, nobody's going to sing a song about how great he is if he doesn't save anything."

"Right," I say, biting my lip nervously for a moment before shaking my head and smiling. "He'll do fine - I hope. Thank you, Lee, I owe you big time."

"Don't mention it," he shrugs. "Just do me a favour and don't make this embarrassing again."

I smile slightly grimly.

"Aye aye, captain," I say saluting, and he laughs.

"Hazel!" Angelina calls. "Come on!"

"Coming!" I call over my shoulder.

"Good luck," Lee says.

"You, too," I say, giving him a meaningful look, before hurrying over, grabbing my broom, and jogging over to catch up with the rest of the team.

Once outside, we take a quick look at the conditions; the sun is out, which might prove to be a problem in terms of visibility, but the ground is hard, which will provide a good kick-off. After this, we go inside the changerooms, change in silence, and all sit down on the bench, except for Angelina, who paces up and down.

"Alright, guys, I know... I know we haven't had a good season," Angelina begins, "and I know we haven't gotten much better... let's - let's just do our best, alright? Let's just try not to lose too badly."

"Wait," I say blankly, "that's it? 'Let's just try not to lose too badly?' How about 'let's try to win'?"

"Hazel-" Angelina begins.

"No," I say, standing up and frowning at her. " _No._ This is _ridiculous._ You are _captain_ , Angelina, and the rest of you are part of the team, we shouldn't be acting like this. Yeah, it's embarrassing that we haven't been doing the best, but it's even more embarrassing that we're acting like this! Why d'you think we're doing so badly this year? Alright, yeah, we haven't got the best team in the world, we've had the absolute worst luck, but we also bloody gave up before the game even started!"

"You might be right, Hazel, but we can't just act like we're going to win," Ron says in a resigned voice, "or that we're suddenly going to get really good. It'd be stupid to even think-"

"Well, then, maybe we ought to be stupid for a while!" I say hotly.

"You know what, you're right," Ginny says, standing up as well. "Even if we don't win, we should go down fighting. This is pathetic - we've been pathetic."

I smile appreciatively at her, before turning to the rest, "So, are we going to go out and win or are we going to be even more pathetic?"

"Win," Angelina says immediately. "You're right, Hazel, I've been awful-"

"Don't start," I say, shaking my head and smiling. "Part of winning means not insulting yourself like that."

"Right," she says, then turns to the rest of the team. "Let's do this, everyone."

And with a  confidence in her stride that I haven't seen in ages, she walks out of the changing rooms, the rest of us following behind her. The Ravenclaw team walks out a little after us, and after Lee announces their names, Madam Hooch approaches.

"Captains, shake hands," she says. Angelina and Roger Davies shake hands, and though it's obvious Roger is trying to crush her hand, Angelina doesn't flinch. "Mount your brooms."

In the moments before Madam Hooch blows her whistle, I look up from Lee, to the Gryffindor end of the stands, to Ron, and take a deep breath, hoping for the best. When she blows her whistle, we all take off into the air, Roger taking the Quaffle immediately.

"And they're off!" Lee says. "And Davies takes the Quaffle immediately, Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Knight, as well... he's going straight for the goal! He's going to shoot - and - and-" Lee swears loudly. "And he's scored."

There's a loud groan from the Gryffindor end of the stands, cheers from the Ravenclaw end, and, predictably, a swell of song from the Slytherin end, the exact opposite of what I want to hear.

" _Weasley cannot save a thing,_

 _he cannot block a single ring..._ "

I let out a small sigh, before hastening to take the Quaffle and zoom down the pitch. Chambers, one of the Chasers, snatches the Quaffle from me, passing it to Bradley, the third Ravenclaw Chaser. Just before he makes it out of the Bludgers' range, Sloper aims a Bludger at him that hits him in the shoulder, causing him to drop the Quaffle. Katie catches it and streaks down the pitch. When Davies and Chambers fly in front of her, she quickly reverse passes to Angelina, but the pass is intercepted by Bradley, who flies down to the Gryffindor end. I zoom up the pitch, trying desperately to catch up with him and get the Quaffle from him, but Bradley makes it into the scoring range and scores. Again, there's groans and cheers and singing from the stands.

We're not getting off to a good start. Time to change that. While Angelina gets the Quaffle and flies down the pitch, I fly below her, making sure that I'm open for any pass. She reverse pases to Katie, who gets hit by a Bludger, making her drop the Quaffle. I, being closer to her than any other Chaser, catch it before any of the Ravenclaw Chasers can, and fly down the pitch to the three hoops. I pretend I'm going to score, then quickly pass it to Angelina, who throws it into the now completely exposed left hoop. The Gryffindor end of the stands cheers loudly, and I let out a small, relieved sigh. That's much better.

"And it's Davies with the Quaffle again, Captain Roger Davies with the Quaffle, zooming down the pitch... dodges Johnson, dodges a Bludger, he shoots - he - he -" I half expect swear words or something of that nature, but it's not what I get. Instead, Lee cries, "and Weasley intercepts!"

I can't help it; I start cheering with the rest of the Gryffindors.

 _Now, that's more like it!_ I think happily.

Ron throws the Quaffle to Angelina, who flies down the pitch, passes to Katie, who passes to me, and I reverse pass to Angelina, all of us flying towards the goalpasts all the while, trying to confuse the Keeper. We repeat this several times, before I take the Quaffle and shoot it through the middle hoop, which the Keeper has left completely unguarded.

I grin broadly, suddenly feeling a fresh surge of hope now that we're tied again. We do even better after that; even though Ron lets in another goal after that, he saves four in a row afterwards, and Angelina, Katie, and I manage to score five more goals, keeping us well in the lead. I'm starting to wonder when those that Lee had spoken to would start singing, or if they even would at all, when I hear the beginnings of a song from the Gryffindor end - broken and off-key and awkward, but a song all the same.

" _Weasley can save anything,_

 _He never leaves a single ring..._ "

Those who aren't in on it look at those who are in confusion, but after a while, when people are starting to learn the lyrics, start singing along with them. Beaming, I look around at Ron, who looks as though he's hardly daring to believe what he's hearing, a large grin spreading across his face.

After that, Ron plays better than ever, the singing gets louder than ever, Lee makes sure to comment on it several times, and even the Slytherins singing the original version of the song can't drown out the Gryffindors.

I take the Quaffle from Davies, fly back down to the Ravenclaw goalposts, and let I another goal. Cho Chang, who has been looking angrier and angrier as Gryffindor wins by more and more, flies over to him, and I, being within earshot of them, listen in on them.

"What the hell was that? How did you let her take the Quaffle from you when she can't even go a Quidditch match without ending up in the hospital wing?" she demands, and I can't help it, I let out a laugh.

I fly over to Ginny, who's circling the pitch in search of the Snitch.

"Make sure you catch that Snitch, yeah?" I mutter to her. "I want to see the look on Cho's face."

After that, I make sure to take the Quaffle from Davies and score six other times, making sure Cho is watching each time. When the scores is one hundred and fifty to seventy and Ron has made ten consecutive saves, I start to worry about whether Ginny is going to catch the Snitch. I needn't worry, though, because suddenly she starts flying towards Cho. I frown slightly, looking around to see if the Snitch is anywhere nearby, until I see it right by Cho. But she doesn't see it. And by the time she does, it's far too late and Ginny has already grabbed it, sealing Gryffindor's victory with a score of three hundred to seventy.

"GINNY WEASLEY HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS THE QUIDDITCH CUP!" Lee yells, absolutely beside himself with happiness.

The entire team flies at top speed towards Ginny, throwing our arms around each other in a group hug, before lowering ourselves slowly to the ground in a tangled huddle. People from the Gryffindor end of the stands are spilling out onto the pitch, the singing louder than ever before, pressing in on my eardrums in the best way. Eventually, we break apart to hug each other separately.

"WE'VE WON! WE'VE WON!" Ginny screams at me, and I cheer as I hug her.

I hug Sloper and Kirke separately, and when they thank me, I give them an odd look and say, "For what? I didn't make you two good. That's all you."

They grin broadly at me, and I return the gesture, before hugging Angelina and Katie.

"Hazel, you were right!" Angelina cries, when we pull away. "We had it in us this entire time, we won!"

She beams at me, before turning away to hug Ginny, while I go over to Ron.

"See? Told you you were good! Sometimes you just need a song to see it," I say, grinning up at him.

Ron beams down at me.

"THIS IS BRILLIANT! WE'RE BRILLIANT, WE WON! WE WON!" he yells, punching the air triumphantly.

I whoop and cheer and laugh along with him, throwing my hands up in the air. Together, the team walks over to the stands amid the cheering and singing crowd, where Umbridge is holding the Quidditch Cup for us. Admittedly, the fact that it's Umbridge and not Dumbledore ruins the moon a bit, but then realising that Umbridge had tried to hard to get Gryffindor to fail, and here we are, about to hold the Quidditch Cup, makes the victory all the sweeter.

We take it in turns to hold the Cup, grinning wider than one would think possible. I grin and gold the Cup high above my head when it's my turn to hold it, looking out into the crowd. In the distance, I see Cho throwing her broom away from her, looking close to tears with anger and frustration. Ron holds it last, punching the air again and cheering loudly, and those singing are practically screaming.

When we get back down, people rush over to Ron, who's still holding the Cup, and pick him up onto their shoulders. I let out a laugh, clapping and cheering and singing, bringing up the rear of the large crowd consisting of the Gryffindors walking over to the castle, to Gryffindor tower, where a party will no doubt ensure.

" _Weasley is our King,_

_Weasley is our King,_

_He didn't let the Quaffle in,_

_Weasley is our King._

_Weasley can save anything,_

_He never leaves a single ring,_

_That's why Gryffindors all sing:_

_Weasley is our King._ "

At the moment, I can't help but mentally give Lee and I a pat on the back for our songwriting abilities, even though they weren't the most original of lyrics. Once the crowd reaches the great double doors of the castle, there's a bit of a scrum, where Ron's head gets badly bumped on the lintel, but nobody wants to let him down. Eventually, they get through, and disappear into the Entrance Hall and out of sight.

Once they're gone, I se Harry and Hermione in front of the steps and hurry over, beaming.

"WE WON! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? WE'VE WON!" I say, jumping up and down in delight, before hugging each of them. "Oh, this is brilliant!"

"Hazel, that song... when - when you talked to Lee the other day... did you have anything to do with that?" Harry asks.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Harry," I reply, but I smile wider, giving myself away. "Listen, there's going to be a part in the common room, I'm going to knick some food from the kitchens, you two go on, I'll be up in a second. Oh, this is fantastic, we won!"

With that, I hurry up the stairs and into the castle, jumping around and spinning and practically skipping all the way to the kitchen, unable to wrap my head around the fact that we've won in spite of all odds - and the odds were definitely against us.

 _How's that for hopeless?_ I think triumphantly, before grinning impossibly wider and quickening my pace towards the kitchen, eager to join the party.


	44. OWLs

**Ours**

**Chapter Forty-Four: OWLs**

 

Ron's euphoria from winning the Quidditch Cup is so great that he can't commit himself to anything the following day. Of course, it's difficult for me to concentrate much, but the OWL's are closer than ever, and the realisation of this makes me manage to relax enough to study, even though the common room is so noisy that it's hard to focus. After a while, Harry, Hermione, and I persuade Ron to join us in revising under the beech tree at the edge of the lake. He isn't keen on the idea at first, clearly not wanting to leave the Gryffindors who continuously go to pat him on the back and occasionally break out into Weasley is our King, but then he finally agrees that some fresh air might do him good.

We spread our books out in the shade of the beech tree and sit down, while Ron talks about the match for what must've been the dozenth time.

"Well, I mean, I'd already let in two shots, so I wasn't feeling all that confident, but I dunno, when Davies came towards me, just out of nowhere - it might've had something to do with what you said in the changing rooms, Hazel - I just thought you can do this! And I had about a second to decide which way to fly, you know, because it looked like he was aiming for the left hoop - my right, obviously, his left - but I had the funny feeling he was feinting, and so I took the chance and flew left - his left, my right - and - well, you saw what happened," Ron concludes modestly, sweeping his hair back unnecessarily so that it looks interestingly windswept and glancing around to see whether the people nearest to us - a group of third year Hufflepuffs - are listening. "And then, when Chambers came at me after - what?" Ron says abruptly, stopping mid-sentence when he notices Harry grinning. "Why are you grinning?"

"I'm not," Harry says quickly, looking down at his notebook and attempting to straighten his face. "I'm just glad we won, that's all."

"Yeah," Ron says, apparently savouring the words, "we won. Did you see the look on Chang's face when Ginny caught the Snitch from right under her nose?"

"I suppose she cried, did she?" Harry says bitterly.

"Well, yeah, but more out of temper than anything," I reply. "You know when I kept taking the Quaffle from Davies and shooting? It's because after I did it the first time, I heard Cho yelling to Davies about how he shouldn't have let me take the Quaffle from him when I can't even go a Quidditch match without ending up in the hospital wing," I laugh a little, before continuing, "and you know after the, like, sixth time I did it, I flew around near Cho for a while? Everyone thought that I was making myself open to take the Quaffle, which I kind of was, but I was mostly just rubbing it in her face more."

"Seriously?" Ron says, bursting out laughing. When I nod, grinning, he says, "and did you lot see the way she chucked her broom away when she got back on the ground?"

I nod and laugh, smiling reminiscently, but Harry says, "Er-"

"Well, actually... no, Ron," Hermione says with a heavy sigh, putting her book down and looking at the two of us apologetically. "As a matter of fact, the only bit Harry and I saw was Davies' first goal."

Ron's ruffled hair seems to wilt with disappointment, and I frown very slightly.

"You didn't watch?" Ron says faintly, looking from one to the other. "You didn't see me make any of those saves?"

"Well - no," Hermione answers, stretching out a placatory hand towards him. "But, Ron, we didn't want to leave - we had to!"

"Yeah? How come?" Ron demands, his face growing rather red.

"It was Hagrid," Harry replies. "He decided to tell is why he's been covered in injuries ever since he came back from the giants. He wanted us to come into the Forest with him, we had no choice, you know how he gets. Anyway..."

Harry and Hermione recount the story of how Hagrid had shown them his half-brother, Grasp; a giant who loved in the mountains, who Hagrid had brought back to teach it English and how to act more humane. In the five minutes the story is told, the look of indignation on Ron's face and the slight disappointment on mine is replaced by an expression of total incredulity.

"He brought one back and hid it in the Forest?" I say in a hushed voice.

"Yep," Harry replies grimly.

"No," I say, as though by just saying it I can make it untrue, shaking my head. Hagrid can't have brought him back to Hogwarts, the consequences of that would be terrible. "No, he can't have."

"Well, he has," Hermione says firmly. "Grawp's about sixteen feet tall, enjoys ripping up twenty-foot pine trees, and knows me," she snorts, "as  _Hermy_."

Ron gives a nervous laugh, but I can't find anything about this situation that's funny.

"And Hagrid wants us to...?" Ron says.

"Teach him English, yeah," Harry confirms.

"He's gone mad," I say, almost awed.

"Yes," Hermione says irritably, turning a page of  _Intermediate Transfiguration_ and glaring at a diagram showing an owl being turned into a pair of opera glasses. "Yes, I'm starting to think he has. But, unfortunately, he made me and Harry promise."

"Well, you're just going to have to break your promise, that's all," Ron says firmly. "I mean, come on... we've got exams and we're about that far-" he holds up a hand to show a thumb and forefinger almost touching - "from being chucked out as it is. And anyway, remember Norbert? And Aragog? Have we ever come off better from mixing with one of Hagrid's monster mates?"

"I know, it's just that - we promised," Hermione insists in a small voice.

Ron smoothed his hair out again, looking preoccupied.

"Well," he sighs, "Hagrid hasn't been sacked yet, has he? He's hung on this far, maybe he'll last until the end of term and we won't have to go near Grawp at all."

But I can tell from the looks on their faces that they don't truly believe Hagrid will last that long.

 

***

 

With June comes beautiful weather and the grounds looking as beautiful and welcoming as ever, but for fifth years, June means only one thing: the OWLs are upon us at last.

Teachers are no longer setting us homework; lessons are now devoted to revising topics that they think are likely to come up in the exam. People, understandably, are acting different as the exams draw nearer. I, while managing to have not snapped at anybody at all this entire year even if they interrupted by studying, each interruption brings me closer and closer to the breaking point, to the extent that I often shoot whoever who interrupted me a murderous sort of look; Hermione is now spending a great deal of time muttering to herself, and she hasn't laid out any elf clothes for days; Ernie Macmillan has taken to interrogating people about how much time they spend revising, talking about how his average time is eight hours per day; and Malfoy has found a new way to induce panic in people.

"Of course, it's not what you know," he insists loudly to Crabbe and Boyle outside of Potions a few days before the exams are set to start, "it's who you know. Now, father's been friendly with the head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority for years - old Griselda Marchbanks - we've had her round for dinner and everything."

"Do you think that's true?" Hermione whispers to Harry, Ron, and I, looking alarmed.

"Nothing we can do about it if it is," Ron replies gloomily.

"I don't think it is," Neville states quietly from behind us. "Because Griselda Marchbanks is a friend of my gran's, and she's never mentioned the Malfoys before."

"What's she like?" Hermione asks. "Is she strict?"

"She's a bit like gran," Neville replies in a subdued voice.

"Knowing her won't hurt your chances, though, will it?" Ron points out encouragingly.

"Oh, I don't think it will make a difference," Neville says, still more miserably. "Gran's always telling Professor Marchbanks that I'm not as good as my dad... well... you saw what she was like at St. Mungo's."

Neville looks fixedly at the floor. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I glance at each other, but don't say anything. Except for the instance in the hospital wing, this is the first time he's brought up our encounter at St. Mungo's in front of any of us, and we're not sure of what to say.

Meanwhile, a flourishing black-market trade in aids to concentration, mental agility and wakefulness has sprung up among fifth and seventh years. Harry and Ron's interest in brain stimulants, however, evaporates when Hermione confiscates a bottle of Barrufio's Brain Elixir that they were about to buy, informing them that it's actually dried Doxy droppings.

We receive our examinations timetables and details of the OWL procedure during our next Transfiguration lesson.

"As you can see," McGonagall tells the class as we copy down the dates and times of our examinations from the blackboard, "your OWL's are spread over two successive weeks. You will receive the theory papers in the mornings and the practical in the afternoons. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night.

"Now, I must warn you, that they strongest Anti-Cheating spells have been applied to your examination papers. Auto-Answer Quills are banned from the examination hall, as are Remembralls, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs and Self-Correcting Ink. Every year, I am afraid to say, seems to harbour at least one student who thinks that he or she can get around the Wizarding Examinations Authority's rules. I can only hope that that is nobody in Gryffindor. Our new - headmistress -" McGonagall says the word with an expression of disgust on her face - "has asked the Heads of House to tell their students that cheating will be punished most severely - because, of course, cheating will reflect upon the Headmistress' new regime at the school; however, that is no reason to not do your very best. You have your own futures to think about."

"Please, Professor," Hermione says, her hands in the air, "when will we find out our results?"

"An owl will be sent to you sometime in July," McGonagall replies.

"Excellent," Dean Thomas says in an audible whisper, "that way we don't have to worry about it until the holidays."

That's one way to look at it. The way I see it, however, it's two months of waiting to find out the results of examinations that could very well shape what I do for the rest of my life.

Our first examination, Theory of Charms, is to take place on Monday morning. The common room has a focused air to it that weekend; Harry is testing Hermione, though he seems to be regretting it, because Hermione just goes to check that she had gotten it right, anyway, finally hitting him hard in the nose with the textbook; Ron and I are reading two years' worth of Charms noted, Ron's fingers in his ears, lips moving soundlessly; Seamus Finnigan is lying flat on his back on the floor, reciting the definition of a Substantive Charm whole Dean checks it; Parvati and Lavender, who are practicing basic Locomotion Charms, are making their pencil cases race each other around their table.

Dinner is a subdued affair on Sunday night. None of us talk much, but Harry and Ron eat with gusto, having studied hard all day. I try to follow their lead, but I'm too nervous about exams that I keep seizing one textbook or another to check a certain fact. Hermione isn't much different from me, and Ron is just telling us that we ought to eat properly or we won't get a good night's sleep, when her fork slips from her limp fingers and lands on the plate with a loud tinkle.

"Oh, my goodness," she says faintly, staring into the Entrance Hall. "Is that them? Is that the examiners?"

Harry, Ron, and I whip around on the bench. Through the great double doors of the Great Hall we can see Umbridge standing with a small group of ancient looking wizards and witches. Umbridge, I'm quite pleased to see, looks nervous.

"Shall we go and have a closer look?" Ron says.

Harry, Hermione, and I nod and we hasten towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall, slowing down as we pass the threshold to walk sedately past the examiners. I decide that Professor Marchbanks is probably the tiny, stooped witch with a face so lined it looks as though it's been draped with cobwebs, she seems to be a little deaf, since she's talking very loudly to Umbridge, considering the fact they're only about a foot apart.

"Journey was fine, journey was fine, we've made it plenty of times before!" She says impatiently. "Now, I haven't heard from Dumbledore lately!" She continues, looking around the Entrance Hall expectantly as though Dumbledore is going to appear out of thin air. "No idea where he is, I suppose?"

"None at all," Umbridge replies, shooting a malevolent look at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I as we dawdle by the marble staircase while I pretend to be doing up my shoelaces. "But I daresay the Ministry of Magic will find him soon enough."

"I doubt it," shouts tiny Professor Marchbanks, and it takes a lot to fight off a smirk, "not if Dumbledore doesn't want to be found! I should know... examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did NEWTs... did things with a wand I'd never seen before..."

"Yes... well..." Umbridge says, as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I begin our ascent up the marble staircase as slowly as we dare, "let me show you the staffroom. I daresay you'd like a cup of tea after your long journey."

It's an uncomfortable sort of evening. Everyone is trying to do last minute revision, but nobody seems to be getting very far with it. I decide to go to bed early with Hermione, on the pretence that a good night's sleep will do me some good for the exam, but once I get into bed, I'm so restless and nervous that I can't try to sleep for longer than an hour. Finally, I crawl over to the foot of my bed to retrieve my bag, take out all of my Charms textbooks, light my wand, and start reading. I read until, finally, I drift off to sleep, my book still open on the bed beside me.

Nobody talks much during breakfast the next day, either; Parvati is practicing incantations under her breath while the salt cellar in front of her twitches; Hermione is reading  _Achievements in Charming_ so fast her eyes are blurred; and Neville keeps dropping his fork and knife and knocking over the marmalade. I try to juggle practicing incantations and reaching from my notes and eating breakfast, but I'm so focused on the former two that I end up forgetting the latter altogether.

Once breakfast is over, the fifth and seventh years mill around in the Entrance Hall and the other students go off to their lessons; at half past nine, we're called class by class inside the Great Hall. The four house tables have been removed and replaced with many tables for one, all facing the staff table end of the hall where McGonagall stands, facing us.

When everyone is sealed and quiet, she says, "You may begin," and turns over an enormous hourglass on the desk beside her, on which there are spare quills, ink bottles, and rolls of parchment.

My heart is pounding furiously, and my mouth is suddenly very dry, I turn over my test paper. My eyes sweep around the room for a moment; then, trying not to be discouraged by the view of Hermione already scribbling away, lower my eyes to the first question:  _a) give the incantation and b) describe the wand movement required to make objects fly._

I have a fleeting memory of a club soaring high into the air and landing on the thick skull of a trouble, and something about this lifts a bit of the weight off my chest. I smile slightly, relax the posture that I hadn't realised was so tense before, and begin to write.

 

***

 

"Well, it wasn't too bad, was it?" Hermione asks anxiously in the Entrance Hall two hours later, still clutching onto her exam paper. "I'm not sure if I did myself justice in the Cheering Charm, I just ran out of time. Did you put the counter-charm for hiccoughs? I wasn't sure if I ought to, it felt like too much - and on question twenty-three - "

"Hermione," Ron interrupts sternly, "we've been through this before... we're not going through every exam afterwards, it's bad enough doing them once."

The fifth years eat lunch with the rest of the school (the four tables reappear for lunch), then we troop off into the small chamber beside the Great Hall, where we're to wait until we're called for our practical examination. As small groups of students are called forward in alphabetical order, those left behind mutter incantations and practice wand movements, occasionally accidentally poking somebody in the back or eye.

When Hermione's name is called, she leaves the chamber trembling, along with Anthony Goldstein, Daphne Greengrass and Gregory Goyle.

"She'll be fine," Ron mutters, "remember when she got a hundred and twelve percent on one of our Charms tests?"

When my name is called, I freeze for a moment, then bite down on my lip, before letting out a slight sigh, and following the other three students out of the chamber and into the Great Hall.

"Professor Marchbanks is free, Miss Knight," squeaks Professor Flitwick, pointing at Marchbanks, who's sitting at a table across the Hall.

I nod once, remember what Neville had said about Marchbanks, and trying to calm my queasiness, walk across the Great Hall to her. When I reach her, I hesitate for a moment unsure of what to do or say. When I say nothing, she looks up.

"Name?" She asks loudly.

"Erm - Hazel Knight," I reply, slightly louder than I would've normally, afraid she wouldn't hear me otherwise.

"Knight, eh?" She says. "Yes, I thought you looked familiar... I tested your mother and father not too long ago... now, let's see what you can do... if you could please take this egg cup and make it do cartwheels for me."

I take a deep breath and nod.

Overall, I think the exam goes quite nicely, but there's no time to relax or celebrate that night; we go straight to the common room after dinner and submerge ourselves in revision for Transfiguration the next day; that night I go to bed with complex spell models and theories buzzing in my head, and after some quick revision, they remain with me the next morning.

I don't think I do quite well with the definition of Cross-Species Switches, and I don't think I'd given the correct wand movement for the Lapifors Spell, but other than that, I think both the Transfiguration theory and practical go quite well.

We have our Herbology exam on Wednesday (which, other than small mistakes, I think I did well on); and, then, on Thursday, we have Defence Against the Dark Arts. I'm wary of my description of the Lumos Duo Charm, but other than that, I'm rather confident in my performance in both the theory and the practical, and take a good amount of pleasure in walking past Umbridge after the theory, who looks at me in a barely restrained angry way that tells me I must've done well.

On Friday, Hermione and I have our Ancient Runes OWL, which I come out of feeling reasonably confident. I'm rather thrown off, however, when Hermione comes hurrying towards me after the exam, looking stricken.

"Hazel!" she says, once she reaches me.

"What is it? What's wrong?" I ask, bewildered.

"What does ehwaz mean?" She demands.

"Ehwaz means partnership," I reply, still not quite understanding her behaviour, "why-?"

"Of course! God, how could I be so stupid?" She says furiously,  starting to walk up the marble staircase, leaving me no choice but to hurry to follow her. Before I can ask, she says, rather snappishly, "I said it means defence, I mixed it up with eihwaz."

"Oh," I say. "Oh. Well, I mean, it's an easy mistake-"

"But it's still a mistake!" She snaps. "I must've revised them both about a million times, how could I have mixed it up?"

"Hermione," I say, slightly annoyed, "it's only one mistake, you'll be fine-"

"And if it's the one mistake that makes a pass turn into a fail?" she says angrily.

"In what world do you fail exams, Hermione?" I say, now rather annoyed.

When she gives me a furious look, I raise my hands in a surrender, but the irritated expression gives me away. She let's out a frustrated noise and turns away.

_When she gets an 'O' in this OWL, I think bitterly, and every other OWL, for that matter, then she'll see._

When we walk past Umbridge's office, we hear screaming. We exchange shocked glances, before moving closer to the door and pressing our ears to it. It's definitely Umbridge's voice, but she sounds so hysterical that we don't get much out of what she's saying except for 'STOP IT' and 'LEG' and 'NIFFLER.'

"Did someone put another Niffler in there?" Hermione says, when we move away and continue walking back to the common room.

"How did they get it passed that new door?" I wonder aloud, making a mental note to ask Lee about it later.

"I don't know, but I wish they'd stop it," Hermione says furiously.

"Why?" I ask, bewildered. "It's more trouble for Umbridge, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it's a Niffler," Hermione says impatiently. "She's bound to think Hagrid's responsible for it, isn't she?"

With that, she quickens her pace to the common room. I let out a small sign, but follow her silently. When we enter the common room, we find Harry and Ron lounging at a table by the window, playing wizard's chess, and I have to feel a hint of resentment, because it's simply not fair for them to be relaxing when I've just written an exam.

"How were the Runes?" Ron asks, yawning and stretching.

"I mistranslated ehwaz," she states furiously. "It means partnership, not defence, I mixed it up with eihwaz."

"Ah, well," Ron says lazily, "that's only one mistake, isn't it, you'll still get - "

"Oh, shut up!" Hermione says. "It could be the one mistake that makes the difference between a pass and a fail. And what's more, someone's out another Niffler in Umbridge's office. I don't know how they got it through that new door, but she was screaming her head off - it tried to take out a chunk of her leg, by the sound of it - "

"Good," Harry and Ron say together.

"It is  _not_ good!" Hermione says hotly. "She'll think it's Hagrid who's doing it, won't she? And we do not want Hagrid getting chucked out!"

"He's teaching at the moment, she can't blame him," Harry points out, gesturing towards the window.

"Oh, you're so naïve sometimes, Harry. You really think Umbridge will wait for proof?" Hermione snaps, clearly determined to be in a bad mood, and sweeps off towards the girls' dormitories and slams the door shut.

"Such a lovely, sweet-tempered girl," Ron says quietly, prodding his queen forward to beat up one of Harry's knights.

"She just doesn't take kindly to being wrong, that's all," I say, staring at the door of the girls' dormitories and sighing. I turn back to Harry and Ron and add, "But neither do I, though, so I suppose I can't talk."

Hermione's bad mood persists for the majority of the weekend, but Harry, Ron, and I find it exceedingly easy to ignore her, since we spend so much time revising for Potions on Monday. Since Potions has never exactly been a walk in the park for me, the theory exam is rather difficult, as is the practical, though the latter actually goes quite well, since Snape isn't present to breathe down our necks and insult us.

"Only four exams left," Parvati says wearily as we head back for Gryffindor tower.

"Only!" Hermione says peevishly. "I've got Arithmancy and that's probably the toughest subject there is!"

None of us are stupid enough to challenge her, so she's reduced to taking out her anger by telling off some first years for giggling too loudly in the common room.

I'm determined to do well in the Care of Magical Creatures exam in Tuesday, even though I'm not really planning on taking the subject to the NEWT level, for Hagrid's sake. The practical examination takes place on the lawn on the edge of the Forbidden Forest; here, students are required to identify the Knarl hidden among a dozen hedgehogs; then demonstrate the correct handling of a Bowtruckle; feed and clean out a Fire Crab without sustaining serious burns; and choose, from a wide selection of food, the diet they would give to a sick unicorn.

I can see Hagrid watching anxiously from the window of his cabin. When my examiner, Professor Tofty this time, smiles ad tells me I can leave, I give Hagrid a fleeting thumbs up before hurrying back up to the castle.

The Astronomy theory exam on Wednesday goes well enough; we have to wait until evening to do the practical for Astronomy, so the afternoon is dedicated to Divination.

I've never been good at Divination, but the exam reaches a whole new level of disastrous. As usual, I don't see a single thing in the stubbornly blank crystal ball, and end up winging it and describing in detail extremely random shapes and images and trying to make them into fates and destinies; the only thing about it is that I'm certain by the look on my examiner's face that, unlike Trelawney, she's getting the distinct impression that I really don't know what I'm doing. During the tea reading, I end up making random messages out of the tea leaves that seem vaguely familiar, and I finish the complete mess of an exam by mixing up the life and head lunes on her palms and telling her that she has exactly half an hour to live.

Harry and Ron make me feel better about the situation by telling me that it went just as badly for them as it did for me; Harry too mixed up the head lines and life lines and informed his examiner that he ought to have died last Tuesday, and Ron had gone into detail about the ugly man with a wart on his nose that he had seen in his crystal ball, only to look up and discover he had been describing his examiner's reflection.

"Well, we were always going to fail that one," Ron points out gloomily as we ascent the marble staircase.

"We shouldn't have taken the stupid subject in the first place," Harry says.

"Still, at least we can give it up now," I say.

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "No more pretending we care what happens when Jupiter and Uranus get too friendly."

"No old that dreams about eating cereal are actually signs of an early death," I continue dreamily, heaving a contented sigh.

"And from now on, I don't care if my tea leaves read 'Die, Ron, die,' I'm chucking them in the bin where they belong."

Harry and I laugh, until Hermione catches up with us, and we stop laughing at once, in case it annoys her.

"Well, I think I've done alright in Arithmancy," she announces, and Harry, Ron, and I sigh in relief, as though it's us who took the exam. "Just enough time for a quick look over our star-charts before dinner, then..."

When we reach the top of the Astronomy tower at eleven o'clock we find a perfect night for stargazing, cloudless and still. The grounds are bathed in silvery moonlight and there's a slight chill in the air. Each of us set up our telescope, and on Marchbanks' word, proceed to fill in the blank star chart we'd been given.

I've finished the constellation Orion on my chart, when I notice the front doors of the castle opening so that light spills down the stone steps a little way across the lawn. I look down as I adjust my telescope slightly and see five or six elongated shadows moving across the brightly lit grass, until the door swings shut and the lawn is swallowed in darkness once more.

I put my eye back to my telescope and refocus it, now examining Venus. I've made a considerable amount of progress on the chart when I hear a distant knock that echoes through the grounds, followed by the muffled sound of what seems to be a large dog barking. I remember the group of people walking across the grounds and suddenly look up, frowning slightly. Squinting slightly, I see half a dozen people at Hagrid's cabin, and my frown deepends, because, even at this distance, I think I can recognise the squattest figure of the group, who seems to be leading. The door opens, the six figures cross the threshold, and the door closes again, bringing silence.

I suddenly feel an uneasiness that has nothing to do with the exam. I have an idea about what Umbridge might be doing in Hagrid's cabin in the middle of the night, and I don't like it one bit. My eyes sweep around the tower briefly, wondering if anyone else had noticed this exchange, but then I catch Professor Tofty's eye, and not wanting him to think I'm cheating, I quickly look down at my chart, trying very hard to concentrate.

It's not long, however, until I hear a roar from the distant cabin that echoes through the darkness right over the Astronomy tower. I duck out from behind my telescope and peer in the direction of Hagrid's cabin, as do many others, my heart in my mouth.

Tofty gives a dry little cough.

"Try to focus, now, boys and girls," he says softly. Most return to their telescopes, but I can't look away. After a moment, Tofty adds, "Ahem - twenty minutes to go."

I look round at Tofty, glance back at Hagrid's cabin for another moment, before letting out a small sigh and return to my star chart, but it's suddenly gotten very difficult to focus.

Suddenly, there's a loud bang from the grounds. Several people let out cries of pain when they pole themselves in the face with the ends of their telescopes in their haste to see what's going on down below. Hagrid's door has burst open and by the light spilling out from his cabin we can see him quite clearly, a massive figure roaring and brandishing fists, surrounded by six others, all of whom seem to be attempting to Stun him.

"No!" Hermione cries.

"My dear, this is an examination!" Tofty scolds, looking scandalised, but nobody is paying attention to their star charts anymore; everyone is watching as jets of red light fly about beside Hagrid's cabin, yet somehow (I suspect it's the giant's blood in him) their spells seem to be bouncing off of him, as he's still upright, and, as far as I can see, is fighting.

Cries and yells echo across the grounds, and a man yells, "Be reasonable, Hagrid!"

"Reasonable be damned, yeh won' take me like this, Dawlish!" Hagrid roars.

I can see the outline of Fang, attempting to defend his owner, leaping repeatedly at wizards surrounding him until a Stunning spell catches him and he falls to the ground. Hagrid gives a howl of fury, lifts the culprit from the ground and throws him; the man flies what seems to be ten feet and does not get up again. Hermione gasps, both hands over her mouth, Harry and Ron look shocked and fearful, and I imagine I'm not much different; none of us have ever seen Hagrid in a real temper before.

"Look!" Parvati squeals, leaning over the parapet and pointing to the foot of the castle where the front doors have opened again; more light spills over the grounds as a single long black shadow ripples over the lawn.

"Now, really! Only sixteen minutes left, you know!" Tofty says anxiously, but even he must know that none of us are paying him the slightest bit of attention any more, opting to watch the person now sprinting to the battle beside Hagrid's cabin.

"How dare you!" the figure shouts as she runs. "How dare you!"

"McGonagall," I whisper.

"Leave him alone! Alone, I say!" McGonagall's voice says through the darkness. "On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such - "

Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati all scream. The figures around the cabin have shot no less than four Stunners at McGonagall. Halfway between cabin and castle, the red jets of light collide with her; for a moment she looks luminous and glows and eerie red, then she's lifted right off her feet, lands hard on her back, and moves no more.

"Galloping gargoyles!" Tofty shouts, seeming to have forgotten the exam himself. "Not so much as a warning! Outrageous behaviour!"

"COWARDS!" Hagrid bellows, his voice carrying clearly to the top of the tower, and several lights flicker back on in the castle. "RUDDY COWARDS! HAVE SOME O' THAT - AN' THAT!"

"Oh my - " Hermione gasps.

Hagrid takes two massive swipes at the attackers nearest him; judging by their immediate collapse, they've been knocked out cold. Hagrid doubles over, and for one terrifying moment, I think Hagrid has finally been defeated by a spell; but, on the contrary, next moment Hagrid is standing with what appears to be a sack on his back - but then I realise that Hagrid has draped Fang's limp body over his shoulders.

"Get him, get him!" Umbridge screams, but her remaining helper seems reluctant to go anywhere near Hagrid and his fists; indeed, he's backing away so quickly that he trips over one of his colleagues and falls over.

Hagrid has turned and begins to run with Fang still hanging over his back. Umbridge shoots another Stunning spell at him, but it misses, and Hagrid runs to the distant gates and is soon swallowed by darkness.

There's a long, quivering silence as everyone gazes open-mouthed into the grounds. Then, Tofty feebly says, "Um... five minutes to go, everybody."

I still have a bit more to my star chart, but I hardly care anymore; all I want is for this exam to end. Regardless, I do still attempt to focus, though I'm breathing very deeply and my writing is messy due to the fact that my hands are shaking with anger. When the exam at last comes to an end, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I force our telescopes haphazardly into our holders and dash back down the spiral staircase. None of the students are going to bed; they're all talking loudly and excitedly about what they had just witnessed.

"That - evil - woman!" I gasp, finding it difficult to talk in my anger. "How dare she sneak up on Hagrid like that?"

"She clearly wanted to avoid another scene like Trelawney," Ernie Macmillan states sagely, squeezing over to join us.

"Hagrid did well, didn't he?" Ron remarks, looking more alarmed than impressed. "How come all of those spells just bounced off him?"

"It'll be his giant blood," Hermione answers shakily. "It's really hard to Stun a giant, they're like trolls, really tough... but poor Professor McGonagall... four Stunners straight in the chest and she's not exactly young, is she?"

"Dreadful, dreadful," Ernie says, shaking his head pompously. "Well, I'm off to bed. Night, all."

People are starting to drift away now, still talking excitedly about what they had witnessed.

"At least they didn't send Hagrid off to Azkaban," Ron points. "I 'spect he's gone off to join Dumbledore."

"I suppose so," Hermione says, now looking tearful. "Oh, this is awful, I really thought Dumbledore would be back before long, but now we've lost Hagrid, too."

"Can you believe what they did to McGonagall?" I say furiously, as we traipse back to the common room. "Four Stunners straight to the chest, just like that! And for what? For defending Hagrid, because he didn't deserve to be attacked! This isn't justice, this is ridiculous! It's like they're ticking off every decent person here, one by one! It's all gone to shit, the Ministry, this school - oh, I _hate_ that awful woman! One of these days, I swear - "

"Hazel, please keep it down!" Hermione says, looking around. "She'll get you, too, if she catches you!"

"Let her try, then!" I say, throwing my hands in the air. "Just let her fucking try it! And let her see what I'll do when I haven't got to worry about getting in trouble anymore!"

When we walk back into the common room, we find it full. Dean and Seamus, who had arrived ahead of us, are recounting all they had seen and heard in the Astronomy Tower.

"But why sack Hagrid now?" Angelina says, shaking her head. "It's not like Trelawney; he's been teaching much better than usual this year!"

"Umbridge hates part-humans," Hermione says bitterly, flopping down onto an armchair. "She was always going to try and get Hagrid out."

"And she thought he was putting Nifflers in her office," Katie pipes up.

"Oh, blimey," Lee suddenly says, his hand covering his mouth. "It's me who's been putting Nifflers in her office. Fred and George left me a couple; I've been levitating them in through her window."

"She'd have sacked him, anyway," Dean insists. "He was too close to Dumbledore."

"That's true," Harry agrees, sinking into the armchair beside Hermione.

"I just hope Professor McGonagall's alright," Lavender says tearfully.

"They carried her back up to the castle, we watched through the dormitory window," Colin Creevey interjects. "She didn't look too good."

"Madam Pomfrey will sort her out," Angelina says firmly. "She's never failed yet."

The common room doesn't clear until it's nearly four in the morning, but I still feel wide awake. The image of McGonagall getting Stunned, of Hagrid beating up all those people, of him sprinting away into the darkness is haunting me. I'm so angry with Umbridge that I can't even sit still, so I spend the rest of the night tossing and turning and thinking of the worst forms of revenge for Umbridge, but nothing seems to be a good enough punishment for someone like her.

Our final exam, History of Magic, is not to take place until later the following afternoon. I would have much preferred to go back to bed after breakfast, since a night of no sleep has finally taken its toll on me, but I know it's best to use the morning for some last-minute revision, so I instead spend the morning trying to skim through _A History of Magic_ and some of the notes that I took on days when I did manage to concentrate.

The fifth years enter the Great Hall at two o'clock. We take our places in front of our face-down examination papers. I'm exhausted, all I want is for this to be over, so I can return to my dormitory and sleep for as long as I'd like, have my first restful sleep since before the beginning of exams.

"Turn over your papers," Professor Marchbanks says from the front of the Hall, flicking over the giant hour-glass. "You may begin."

I stare at the first question for a very long time. Then I realise that I haven't taken in a single word, give my head a slight shake, as though to rid my tiredness and the discomfort from the feeling of the sun on my neck, and read it over carefully. I wrack my brains for a moment, until I find the answer, bend over, and begin to write.

It continues like this for a while; each question usually takes me a little bit to register in my mind, then a bit longer for me to be able to extract an answer, making sure that I'm not mixing it up with any other similar name or date, before finally writing it down. Until, that is, I reach a question to which that, no matter how hard I think, I don't know the answer. I bite my lip as I stare down at my page, trying desperately to think of something, but nothing comes to mind except for Pierre Bonaccord, who I'm sure is very important somehow.

Finally, I just shrug, remember that it doesn't matter that much, since I'm dropping the subject next year, anyway, and scribble down some sentences that I already know are wrong. And so everytime I come across a question that I really just don't know the answer to, I write down some random answer that seems legitimate and continue on my merry way, half regretting the lack of attention that I gave to History of Magic, the other half not really caring.

Of course, except for that handful of questions, I really think I'm doing quite well.

I'm near finished the exam, when there's the sound of yelling behind me and someone falling to the floor. I whip around anxiously, to find Harry on the floor, shouting and clutching his forehead.

Instantaneously, the Great Hall erupts. Everyone gets to their feet, a wave of noise as people close in around Harry. I find myself somewhere in the middle, jostled and pushed by those around me. I let out a frustrated noise, angrier that it would've been had it not been my best friend clearly in a great deal of trouble and pain. I push my way through the crowd, until I make it to the front.

I decide that it must have something to do with his connection to Voldemort, realise that it's time to put what I've learned about Occlumency to the test, and go to bend over him, when Tofty bursts through and beats me to it.

"Back away - back away, all of you!" Tofty yells at us. "Quiet down, how do you expect this young man to calm down when you're all yelling like this?"

He bends over Harry, whose yelling has died down, and helps him to his feet.

"Come now, Mr. Potter, I'll take you to the Entrance Hall, allow you to calm yourself a bit, and I expect you'll be needing the hospital wing," Tofty says, leading Harry out of the Great Hall, everyone watching them, now dead silent.

The doors swing shut behind them, and we all stand in silence for a very long time, until Marchbanks calls, "Well, back to your seats, everyone! The examination is still not over, you have another fifteen minutes!"

Slowly, people return to their seats, muttering to each other about what had just happened, until Marchbanks scolds them all and tells them that this is an examination. I go back to my own seat and pick up my quill, but I have no hope in finishing this exam, not anymore. I can't take in any of the questions, and my hands are shaking, not with anger this time, but worry.

It's potentially the longest fifteen minutes of my life, and when Marchbanks announces that it's the end of the examinations and we all get to our feet, I run over to find Ron and Hermione. We meet each other in the middle.

"Harry," we say in unison.

We pause and stand there for a moment, staring at each other, before we break into a run, hurrying out of the Great Hall. We bump into several people, causing them to let out angry protests, but we just ignore them.

"Where d'you think he is?" Ron says desperately once we're in the Entrance Hall, looking around as though expecting him to pop up out of nowhere.

"Didn't Professor Tofty say something about the hospital wing?" I say.

"Do you think he actually went?" Hermione asks anxiously.

"No clue," I say, sighing.

"Look, there he is!" Ron says, nodding, and Hermione and I look up to find Harry running down the marble staircase. We hurry over to him.

"Harry!" I say at once. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Where have you been?" Ron demands.

"Come with me," Harry says. "Come quickly, I need to tell you guys something."

He leads us along the first floor corridor, peering through doorwards, until he finds an empty classroom. He dives into it, closes the door behind Ron, Hermione, and I the moment we're inside, and leans against it, facing us.

"It's Voldemort," he says. "He's got Sirius."


	45. Will or Won't

**Ours**

**Chapter Forty-Five: Will or Won't**

 

I'm the first to get over the shock from his words enough to speak.

"What?" I say. "What d'you mean - how do you know - ?"

"Saw it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam."

"But - but where? How?" says Hermione, her face white.

"I dunno how," Harry replies, "but I know exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in little glass balls and they're at the end of row ninety-seven... he's trying to use Sirius to get whatever he wants from in there... he's torturing him... says he'll end by killing him! How're we going to get there?" he asks us as he moves over to a desk and sits on it, clearly trying to calm down, as his voice and knees are shaking.

There's a moment of silence, until it's broken by Ron saying, "G-get there?"

"Get into the Department of Mysteries, so we can save Sirius!" Harry elaborates loudly.

"But... Harry..." Ron says weakly.

"What? What?"

"Harry," Hermione begins in a rather frightened voice, "er... how... did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anybody realising he was there?"

"How do I know?" Harry bellows. "The question is how we're going to get there!"

"But... Harry, think about this," Hermione insists, taking a step towards him, "it's five o'clock in the afternoon... the Ministry must be full of workers... how would Voldemort and Sirius have gotten in without being seen? Harry... they're probably the two most wanted wizards in the world... you think they could get into a building of Aurors undetected?"

"I dunno, Voldemort could've used an Invisibility Cloak, or something!" Harry shouts. "Anyway, the Department of Mysteries has always been completely empty whenever I've been - "

"You've never been there, Harry," Hermione says quietly. "You've dreamed about the place, that's all."

"They're not normal dreams!" Harry shouts, standing up and taking a step closer to her. "How d'you explain Ron's dad, then, what was that all about, how come I knew what happened to him?"

"He's got a point," Ron says quietly, looking at Hermione.

"But this is just - just so unlikely!" Hermione cries. "Harry, how on earth could Voldemort have gotten a hold of Sirius when he's been in Grimmauld Place the entire time?"

"Sirius might've wanted some fresh air," Ron points out, sounding rather worried now. "He's been desperate to get out of that house for ages."

"But why," Hermione persists, "why on earth would Voldemort want to use Sirius to get the weapon, whatever it is?"

"I dunno, there could be loads of reasons!" Harry yells. "Maybe Sirius is just somebody Voldemort doesn't care about seeing hurt - "

"You know what, I've just thought of something," Ron says in a hushed voice. "Sirius' brother was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Maybe he told Sirius the secret of how to get the weapon!"

"Yeah - and that's why Dumbledore's been so keen to keep Sirius locked up all the time!" Harry adds. "Ron, from the looks of it, if Sirius and his brother were close at all, they probably drifted apart a bit when they realised they have such different beliefs - at the very least, they weren't close enough for him to tell Sirius something like that. Anyway, he's supposed to have died young, probably before he could've told Sirius about any weapon, if he even knew about it. And the reason Dumbledore's so keen to keep Sirius locked up all the time is because, in case you've forgotten, he's one of the most wanted criminals out there!"

"Exactly," Hermione says, nodding at me and looking grateful, "and we haven't got any proof, no proof that Voldemort and Sirius are even there - "

"Hermione, Harry's seen them!" Ron says, rounding on her.

"Okay," she says, looking frightened yet determined, "I've just got to say this - "

"What?"

"You... this isn't criticism, Harry! But you do... sort of... I mean - don't you think you've got a bit of a - a - Saving People thing?"

"And what's the supposed to mean, a 'Saving People thing.'" Harry says, glaring at her.

"Well... you... I mean... last year, for instance... in the lake... during the Tournament... you shouldn't have... I mean, you didn't need to save that Delacour girl... you got a bit... carried away..." at the look on Harry's face, she quickly adds, "I mean, it was really great of you and everything, everyone thought it was a wonderful thing to do - "

"That's funny," Harry says through gritted teeth, "because I definitely remember Ron saying I wastes time acting like a hero... is that what you think this is? You reckon I want to act the hero again?"

"No, no, no!" Hermione says, aghast. "That's not what I mean at all!"

"Well, spit out what you've got to say, we're wasting time here!" Harry shouts.

"I'm trying to say - Voldemort knows you, Harry! He took Ginny down to the Chamber of Secrets to lure you there, it's the kind of thing he does, he knows you're the - the sort of person who'd go to Sirius' aid! What if he's just trying to get you into the Department of Myst - "

"Hermione, it doesn't matter if he did it to get me there or not - they've taken McGonagall to St. Mungo's, there isn't anyone in the Order left at Hogwarts to tell, and if we don't go, Sirius is dead!"

"But, Harry - what if your dream was just that - a dream?"

Harry lets out a roar of frustration, causing Hermione to take a step back.

"You don't get it!" he shouts. "I'm not having nightmares, I'm not just dreaming it! What d'you think Occlumency is for, why d'you think Dumbledore wants to prevent me from seeing these things? Because they're REAL, Hermione - Sirius is trapped, I've seen him. Voldemort's got him and nobody else knows, that means we're the only Ines who can save him, and if you don't want to do it, fine, but I'm going, understand? And if I remember correctly, you didn't have a problem with my Saving People thing when I was saving you two from the Dementors, or - " he rounds on Ron - "when I was saving your sister from the Basilisk."

"I never said I had a problem!" Ron says heatedly.

"But, Harry, you've just said it," Hermione says fiercely, "Dumbledore wanted you to learn how to shut those things out of your mind, if you'd done Occlumency properly you would've never seen this - "

"IF YOU THINK I'M JUST GOING TO ACT LIKE I HAVEN'T SEEN - "

"Sirius told you there was nothing more important than you learning how to close your mind!"

"WELL, I EXPECT HE'D SAY SOMETHING DIFFERENT IF HE KNEW WHAT I'D JUST - "

The classroom door opens. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I whip around. Ginny walks in, looking curious, along with Luna, who as usual looks as though she'd accidentally drifted inside.

"Hi," she says uncertainly. "We recognised Harry's voice. What are you yelling about?"

"Never you mind," Harry replies roughly.

Ginny raises her eyebrows.

"There's no need to use that tone with me," she says coolly. "I was only wondering whether we could help."

"Well, you can't," Harry says shortly.

"You're being rather rude, you know," Luna comments serenely.

Harry swears and turns away. I, however, get an idea.

"Wait," I say. "Wait... they can help."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione look at me.

"Listen," I say urgently. "We need to find out whether Sirius has left Headquarters."

"I've told you, I saw - "

"Harry, please just listen!" I say desperately. "I don't doubt that Voldemort could get him and Sirius into the Department of Mysteries without being detected, I haven't got a doubt in my mind that Voldemort's capable of doing that. But I also don't have a doubt in my mind that Voldemort could've found about this connection between you and him and planted the image in your mind to lure you there. We need to check if Sirius is at home or not before we go charging into the Ministry of Magic. If he's not there, then I won't say anything about you going. In fact, I'll come with you, I'll do whatever it takes to save him."

"Sirius is being tortured NOW!" Harry yells. "We haven't got time to waste!"

"Exactly, we don't! So, we better hurry up and check if he's there or not," I say. "We need to save Sirius and we need to do it fast - but only with proof that he even needs to be saved."

"How?" Harry demands. "How're we going to check?"

"Simple," I reply, straightening up and facing him squarely. "We break into Umbridge's office again and see if we can contact him."

"Oh, but, Hazel, we can't - "

"It's been done once, it can be done again," I say dismissively, shaking my head. "Besides, it's not can or cannot anymore, Hermione, it's will or won't. We'll draw Umbridge away with another distraction, but we'll need lookouts in the corridor, and that's where we'll need Ginny and Luna."

Though clearly struggling to understand what's going on, Ginny says immediately, "Yeah, we'll do it."

Luna, however, merely says, "When you say 'Sirius,' are you talking about Stubby Boardman?"

Nobody answers her.

"Okay," Harry says aggressively to me, "okay, if you can think of a way of doing this quickly, I'm with you, otherwise, I'm going to the Department of Mysteries right now."

"The Department of Mysteries?" Luna repeats, mildly surprised. "But how are you going to get there?"

Again, nobody answers her.

"Right," I say, putting my hands together and pacing up and down between the desks. "Right... well... first we're going to need the distraction that lures Umbridge well away from her office... you two," I say, turning to Ron and Hermione, "you tell tell Umbridge that Peeves has cone something destructive as usual - erm, say he's smashed up the Transfiguration department, it's miles away from her office. In fact, if you need Peeves on the way there, tell him to do it, he'll hardly refuse. Or just do it yourselves, if you cine across it while you're finding her. You two might not be Umbridge's favourite students, but you're prefects, which means your word is better than any of the rest of us."

It's a mark of the seriousness that Hermione makea no objection to smashing up the Transfiguration department. She and Ron nod once.

"Okay," I say, resuming in pacing. "Bow, we need to keep the students well away as well, too, otherwise a Slytherin or something is bound to tip her off."

"Luna and I can stand on either end of the corridor," Ginny offers promptly, "and warn everybody not to go there because someone's let off a load of Garrotting Gas," I look at her in surprise at the readiness of her lie; Ginny shrugs and says, "Fred and George planned to do it before they left, remember?"

"Brilliant," I say, nodding. "Brilliant. Right, then, Harry, you and me will sneak into Umbridge's office and you can talk to Sirius - "

"He's not there, Hazel!"

"Right, I mean - you can check to see if he's there " I correct myself, "and I'll keep watch, it'll be risky doing it alone, you might not hear anyone coming, and Lee's already proven there's a weak spot, since he's been getting those Nifflers in. So?" I ask him, with a slight coldness in my tone. "How's that for quickly?"

"I... okay, thanks," Harry mutters.

"Right," I say, breathing a slight sigh of relief that he's accepted the plan, "well, the only thing is that I don't think any if this can buy you that much time, not with Filch and that wretched Inquisitorial Squad floating around, or if anything goes wrong. We'll have about five minutes, ten if we're lucky."

"Five minutes'll be enough," he assures me.

"Right," I say, nodding. "Go in, then, get your Invisibility Cloak - and while you're at it, get that knife you used last time - it might not work with Umbridge's new door, but it's worth a shot - we'll meet you at the end of Umbridge's corridor, yeah?"

Harry doesn't reply, but flings himself out the door. Ginny looks after him for a moment, before turning to Ron, Hermione, and I.

"So, are you three going to explain what the hell's going on or not?" she says.

As quickly as we can, we explain the situation to Ginny and Luna. Once finished, we leave the room, heading for the corridor of Umbridge's office. On the way, we decide on the signal in case anyone is coming (a loud chorus of the new version of 'Weasley is Our King'), and we're huddled together at the edge of Umbridge's corridor when Harry comes rushing to a stop in front of us, carrying the Invisibility Cloak, and the knife.

"Got it," Harry says breathlessly. "Ready to go, then?"

"Right," I say, as a loud group of sixyh years walk past. "So, Ron, Hermione - you two go head Umbridge off... Ginny, Luna, of you could start moving people away from the corridor... Harry and I'll put the Cloak on and wait until the coast is clear..."

Ron and Hermione stride away down the corridor, Ginny going on the other, Luna trailing behind.

"C'mon, get over here," I mutter, tugging at Harry's wrist and pulling him into a recess where the stone head of a medieval wizard stands muttering to itself. I look up into his face and ask, rather worriedly, "Are you alright, Harry?"

"I'm fine," he replies shortly, though he doesn't look it, tugging the Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. "Here," he mutters, throwing the Cloak over us and we stand listening carefully over the statue's Latin mumbling.

"You can't come down here!" Ginny is calling to the crowd. "No, sorry, you're going to have to go round by the swivelling staircase, someone's let off Garrotting Gas just along here - "

Several people are complaining; one surly voice says, "I don't see no gas."

"That's because it's colourless," Ginny says in a convincingly exasperated voice, "but if you want to walk through it, go ahead, then we'll have your body as proof for the next idiot who doesn't believe us."

Slowly, the crowd thins. The news of the Garrotting Gas seems to have spread, because nobody cones this way anymore. When, at last, the area is quite clear, I whisper to Harry, "Alright, I think that's about as good as it'll get, come on."

We move forward, covered by the Cloak. Luna is standing at the far end of the corridor, her back to us. As we pass Ginny I whisper, "Good one... don't forget the signal."

"What's the signal?" Harry mutters, as approach Umbridge's door."

"A chorus of 'Weasley is our King'," I reply, as Harry inserts the blade of Sirius' knife in the crack between door and wall, "nice and loud, in case anybody comes."

The lock clicks open and we enter the office. The garish kittens are basking in the late-afternoon sunshine that's warning their plates,  but other than that, the office is quite unoccupied. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Good, I was worried Umbridge would get tighter security after that second Niffler."

We pull off the cloak; I hurry over to the window and stand out of sight, drawing my wand and peering into the grounds. Harry dashes over to the fireplace, seizes the pot of Floor powder, and throws it into the grate, causing emerald flames to burst into life there. He kneels down quickly, thrusts his head into the dancing flames, and cries, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

I watch him for a while, before shaking my head and turning back to the fireplace, forcing myself to concentrate.

"Sirius?" Harry yells. "Sirius, are you there?" He's silent for a long time, before saying, "Who's there?"

I look from the window to the door of Umbridge's office, suddenly frowning slightly. It seems so odd for Umbridge to have not added extra security; after two Nifflers, surely she would've taken further action to ensure her safety? It was all too easy to get in, almost worryingly easy.

"Where's Sirius, Kreacher?" Harry demands, and my heart suddenly drops, thoughts of Umbridge and Nifflers disappearing. I hadn't actually thought Sirius was in any danger, convinced that it was only an image Voldemort planted in Harry's mind to lure him to the Department of Mysteries.

And with worries about Sirius now in my mind, I become more uneasy than ever, drumming my hand and my wand on my thigh restlessly, frowning slightly.

After a moment, Harry says, "Where's he gone? Where's he gone, Kreacher? I'm warning you! What about Lupin? Mad-Eye? Any of them, are any of them there?"

_Has Sirius really left Grimmauld Place?_

"But you know!" shouts Harry. "Don't you? You know where he is!"

_Why didn't Umbridge put any extra security in her office?_

"You - " Harry begins, but if he manages to get any other words in, I don't know, because the door bursts open and in come, to my complete and utter horror, Umbridge, Malfoy, and Millicent Bulstrode.

My grip on my wand tightens instinctively; I don't know how I'm going to go about fighting off a woman who is the Headmistress, the High Inquisitor, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and a high ranking Ministry member and two of her favourite students, but I'd rather not lose the one thing that makes this situation not feel hopeless.

Umbridge walks over to Harry, reaches into the flames, grabs a fistful of his hair, and yanks him back, bending his neck as far as it can go, as though she's going to slit his throat.

"You think - " she whispers, bending Harry's neck even further, "that after two Nifflers I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in, you foolish boy. Take his wand," Umbridge barks at Malfoy. Malfoy walks forward and extracts Harry's wand from his robes. Umbridge looks to Millicent Bulstrode, nods at me, and says, "Hers, too."

Bulstrode goes to take my wand, but I hold it away from her, determined to keep my wand. After a few moments of rather confused kicking and punching from both sides, however, Bulstrode manages to take my wand from me and pins me against the wall so that I can't do much more than struggle fruitlessly. Malfoy goes over to the window, leaning against the windowsill and throwing Harry's wand in the air and catching it one-handed with a smirk on his face.

"I want to know why you are in my office," Umbridge says, shaking the hair she's holding in her fist so that he staggers.

"I was - trying to get my Firebolt," he croaks l.

"Liar," she shakes him again. "Your Firebolt is under strict guard in the dungeons, as you very well know, Potter. You had your head in my fire. With whom have you been communicating?"

"No one - " Harry chokes out, trying to get out of Umbridge's grasp, to no avail.

"Liar!" Umbridge shouts, before throwing him from her and causing him to slam into the desk.

There's a commotion outside, then several large Slytherin students enter, each gripping Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, and - to my bewilderment - Neville, who's trapped in a stranglehold by Crabbe and looks to be in danger of suffocation.

"Got 'em all," Warrington says, shoving Ron roughly into the room. "That one," he points a thick finger at Neville, "tried to stop me taking her," he points at Ginny, who's trying to kick the shins of the girl holding her, "so I brought him along, too."

"Good, good," Umbridge says, watching Ginny's struggles. "Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it?"

Malfoy laughs loudly and maliciously, while Umbridge gives her wide, complacent smile and settles herself into her armchair, gazing at her captives like a toad in a flowerbed.

"So, Potter," Umbridge begins, "you stationed lookouts around my office and sent these two imbeciles - " she nods to Ron and Hermione, making Malfoy laugh even harder - "to tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department, even though I knew perfectly well that he was busy smearing ink on all the eyepieces of the school's telescopes, Mr. Filch having just told me so.

"Clearly, it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anybody."

A few members of the Inquisitorial Squad laugh at that. Furious that Umbridge has the nerve to mock McGonagall after what she and her colleagues did to her, I struggle harder against Bulstrode, but she increases her pressure.

"It's none of your business who I talk to," Harry snarls, and Umbridge's slack face seems to tighten.

"Very well," Umbridge says in a dangerous and falsely sweet voice. "Very well, Mr. Potter... I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. Draco, fetch Professor Snape."

Malfoy stows Harry's wand in the pocket of his robes and leaves the room, smirking, but I hardly notice now, because I realise that there was someone in the Order at Hogwarts for us to talk to: Snape.

There's silence in the office except for the Inquisitorial Squad trying to keep Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and I under control. Ron's lip is bleeding on Umbridge's carpet as he tries to escape Warrington's half-nelson; Ginny is still trying to stamp on the feet of the girl holding her; Neville is turning steadily purple while tugging at Crabbe's arm; Hermione, whose arms were pinned behind her back, is too trying to stamp on the feet of her captor, or at least aim a good kick at her; I still try, in vain, to throw Bulstrode off of me; Luna, however, is standing limply by the side of her captor, gazing vaguely out of the window as though bored by the scene in Umbridge's office.

Soon, Malfoy enters the room again, followed by Snape.

"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?" Snape says, looking around at the pairs of struggling students with an expression of complete indifference on his face.

"Ah, Professor Snape," Umbridge says, smiling widely and standing up. "Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please."

"You took my last bottle to interrogate Knight," Snape says. "Surely you did not use the whole bottle? I told you that three drops would be sufficient."

Umbridge flushes.

"You can make more, can't you?" she says, her tone becoming sweetly girlish, as it always does when she's furious.

"Certainly," Snape replies, his lip curling. "It takes a full moon cycle to mature, so I shall have it ready for you in a month."

"A month?" Umbridge squawks. "A month! But I need it this evening, Snape! I just found Potter trying to use my fireplace to communicate with a person or persons unknown!"

"Really?" he says, showing his first, faint sign of interest as he looks around at Harry

 "Well, it doesn't surprise me. Potter has never shown any inclination to follow the school rules."

"I wish to interrogate him!" Umbridge repeats angrily, so that Snape looks away from Harry into her furiously quivering fave. "I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!"

"I have already told you," Snape says smoothly, "that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter - and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy if you did - I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling."

"You are on probation!" Umbridge shrieks, causing Snape to look at her with raised eyebrows. "You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!"

He gives an ironic bow and turns to leave, when Harry shouts, "He's got Padfoot! He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!"

Snape suddenly stops with his hand on Umbridge's door handle. My heart soars; we might not know where anybody in the Order is, but surely Snape will. Maybe Snape will contact someone, and they'll get to Sirius on time...

"Padfoot?" Umbridge repeats, looking eagerly from Harry to Snape. "What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?"

Snape looks round at Harry, his face unfathomable. I don't know if Snape understands or not, but there's no way to speak more plainly without giving everything away to Umbridge.

"I have no idea," Snape says coldly. "Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me, I will give you a Babbling Beverage. And, Crabbe, loosen your hold a little. If Longbottom suffocates, it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork, and I'm afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if you ever apply for a job."

He leaves the room, and my heart drops right down to the region of my stomach; Snape, as much as it pained me to admit it, had been our last hope. I look round at Umbridge to find her seeming to be feeling similarly to me; her chest is heaving with anger and frustration.

"Very well," she says, pulling out her wand. "Very well... I am left with no alternative... this is more than a matter of school discipline... this is an issue of Ministry security... yes... yes..."

She seems to be talking herself into something. She shifts her weight nervously from foot to foot, staring at Harry, beating her wand on her empty palm in a way that makes me feel even more powerless without my wand.

"You are forcing me, Potter... I do not want to," Umbridge says, still moving restlessly on the spot ( _doubt it,_ I think), "but sometimes circumstance justifies the use... I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice."

Malfoy is watching her with a hungry expression on her face that makes me sick.

"The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue," Umbridge says quietly, and it suddenly feels quite like somebody had just pulled the floor out from under me.

"NO!" I shriek, fighting harder than ever against Bulstrode, so that, for the first time, she's showing signs of starting to weaken. "No - no - you can't!"

Umbridge seems to take no notice of my words. Instead, there's a nasty, eager expression that I haven't seen before. She raises her wand.

"What would the Minister say if he knew you were breaking the law, Professor?" I cry desperately, knowing that begging will not get me anywhere and hoping that reasoning will.

"What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him," Umbridge states, now panting slightly as she points her wand at different parts of Harry's body, apparently deciding what will hurt most. "He never knew that I ordered the Dementors to go after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given a chance to expel him, all the same."

"It was you?" Harry gasps. "You sent the Dementors after me?"

"Somebody had to act," Umbridge gasps, as her wand comes to stop at Harry's forehead. "They were all bleating about silencing you somehow - discrediting you - but I was the one who actually did something about it... only you wriggled out of that one, didn't you, Potter? Not today, through, not now..." taking a deep breath, she cries, " _Cruc_ \- "

"NO!" Hermione shoots in a cracked voice from behind her captor. "No - Harry - we'll have to tell her!"

"No way!" Harry yells.

"We'll have to, Harry, she'll force it out of you, anyway, what's... what's the point?"

And she begins to cry weakly, causing her captor to stop holding her, moving away from her and looking disgusted.

"Well, well, well!" Umbridge says, looking triumphant. "Little Miss Question-All is going to give us some answers! Come on, then, girl, come on!"

"Er - my - knee - no!" Ron chokes out.

Ginny is staring at Hermione as though she's never seen her before; Neville, still choking and gasping for breath, was gazing at her, too. I stop struggling against Bulstrode to look at her in shock, but that shock turns into confusion as I look at her closer and notice that, though Hermione is sobbing desperately into her hands, there's no trace of a tear.

"I'm - I'm sorry, everyone," she says. "But - I can't stand it - "

"That's right, that's right, girl!" says Umbridge, seizing Hermione by the shoulders, thrusting her into the armchair and leaning over her. "Now, then... with whom was Potter communicating just now?"

"Well," Hermione gulps into her hands, "well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore."

Ron freezes, eyes wide; Ginny stops trying to step on the toes of her captor; my eyes narrow slightly; and even Luna looks mildly surprised. However, Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad are too busy watching Hermione with rapt interest to notice these suspicious signs.

"Dumbledore?" Umbridge repeats eagerly. "You know where Dumbledore is?"

"Well... no!" Hermione sobs. "We've tried the Leaky Cauldron in Diagonal Alley and the Three Broomsticks and even the Hog's Head - "

"Idiot girl - Dumbledore won't be sitting in a pub when the whole of the Ministry of Magic is looking for her!" Umbridge shouts, disappointment etched onto her face.

"But - but we needed to tell him something important!" Hermione wails, holding her hands more tightly to her face, clearly to disguise the absence of real tears.

"Yes?" Umbridge says with a sudden resurgence of excitement. "What was it you wanted to tell him?" 

"We... we wanted to tell him it's r-ready!" Hermione chokes.

"What's ready?" Umbridge demands, grabbing Hermione's shoulders again and shaking her. "What's ready, girl?"

"The... the weapon."

"Weapon? Weapon?" Umbridge repeats, her eyes seeming to pop with excitement. "You have been developing some method of resistance? A weapon you could use against the Ministry? On Professor Dumbledore's orders, of course?"

"Y-y-yes," Hermione gasps, "but he had to leave before it was finished and n-now we've f-f-finished it for him and we c-can't find him to t-tell him!"

"What kind of weapon is it?" Umbridge asks harshly, stubby fingers tight on Hermione's shoulders.

"We don't r-really understand it," Hermione replies, sniffing loudly. "We j-just d-d-did what P-Professor Dumbledore t-told us to do."

Umbridge straightens up.

"Lead me to the weapon," she commands.

"I'm not showing... them," Hermione says shrilly, looking around at the Slytherins through her fingers.

"It is not for you to set conditions," Umbridge says harshly.

"Fine!" Hermione says, now sobbing into her hands again. "Fine... let them see it, I hope they use it on you! In fact, I wish you'd I vite loads and loads of people to come and see! Th-that would s-serve you right - oh, I'd love if the wh-whole school knew where it was, and how to u-use it, and then if you annoy any of them, they'll be able to s-sort you out!"

These words have a powerful impact on Umbridge. Her eyes sweep swiftly and suspiciously at the members of the Inquisitorial Squad, lingering on Malfoy, who is too slow to hide the expression of eagerness and greed on his face.

Umbridge contemplates Hermione for a long while, before saying, in what she clearly thinks is a motherly voice, "Alright, dear, let's just make it you and me... and we'll take Potter, too, shall we? Get up, now."

"Professor," Malfoy says eagerly, "Professor Umbridge, I think some of the Squad should come with you to look after - "

"I'm a fully qualified Ministry official, Malfoy, do you really think I cannot manage two wandless teenagers alone?" Umbridge says sharply. "In any case, this weapon does not seem like anything schoolchildren should see. You will remain here until I return and make sure none of these - " she gestures around at Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and I - "escape."

"Alright," Malfoy says, looking sulky and disappointed.

"And you two can go ahead of me and show me the way," Umbridge continues, pointing at Harry and Hermione with her wand. "Lead on."

When the door closes behind them, it doesn't take very long for Malfoy to mumble, with the air of a toddler who had just been denied of a treat, "It's not fair that we don't get to go, we should see it, too. My father works at the Ministry, and - "

" - and nobody cares," I interrupt.

Malfoy casts me a dark look, which doesn't set me off or satisfy me more than it normally would. Instead, I just look away around the room, trying to find some sort of escape, some way out of here...

I catch Luna's eye, who nods at me, and then at the Inquisitorial Squad trapping us. I look at her in confusion, not understanding the message that she's clearly trying to deliver, but before I can give her some sort of sign that I don't understand, she looks away, returning her gaze out the window.

After a while, the grip that the members of the Inquisitorial Squad have on us starts to slack after an exceedingly long time without struggling, and I start feeling hopeful; if I could wait for precisely the right moment, I could catch Bulstrode off guard and get my wand back. Luna catches my eye again and smiles more widely, and it's then that I realise that the right moment is now. She turns back to her captor and kicks her as hard as she can.

Everyone lets out some sort of yell or shout, and Millicent Bulstrode moves off of me completely. I realise I only have moments until Bulstrode goes back to restraining me, probably tighter than ever before, so instinctively, I punch her in the face with all my might.

She staggers backward, and I use the opportunity to dive my hand in the pocket of her robes, pull out my wand, and, upon noticing that the members of the Inquisitorial Squad are drawing their wands, cry, " _Expelliarmus!_ "

Their wands fly out of their hands towards me, and I catch those that I can. Ginny, Luna, Ron, and Neville jump upon the opportunity and manage to take back their own wands after a moment of struggle. Together, we attack the Inquisitorial Squad. Once we're finished, I look around the room, raising my eyebrows and feeling rather proud that we'd done a rather good job with them. Of course, we haven't come out of it without any injuries; there's several long scratches down the length of Ginny's cheek, a large purple lump is swelling beneath Neville's eye, Ron's lip is bleeding worse than ever, and a bruise is already starting to form on my lower cheek, but other than that, we're all quite alright.

"Who did the Bat Bogey Hex on Malfoy?" I ask, smiling at the giant flying bodies flying around Malfoy's head. I look up at Ginny and say, "Was it you?"

"You bet," she replies, looking at Malfoy with an expression of self-satisfaction on her face. "That was an excellent Impediment Jinx, by the way, Neville."

Neville smiles and shrugs, looking embarrassed.

"Luna, that was brilliant," I say, beaming at her. "You caught everyone completely off-guard, it was perfect."

"Thank you," Luna says serenely, nodding. "I was hoping for that effect."

"Now, let's go find Harry and Hermione," Ginny says, then adds, as an afterthought, "And Umbridge, I suppose."

"Where are they, though?" Neville asks, frowning.

"I saw them on the grounds," Luna interjects. "They were heading into the forest."

"Of course they were," Ron says, sighing.

"Don't sound so negative," I scold mockingly, moving to take Harry and Hermione's wands. "It's a very good idea to go into the forest; if we're lucky, maybe something ate Umbridge."

"But what if it ate Harry and Hermione, too?" Neville says.

"Oh," I say, straightening up and frowning slightly. "Hadn't thought of that. Well, let's just hope they're in one piece. Now, come on, we haven't got time to waste, especially if we're going to save Sirius."

With that, I lead the way out of Umbridge's office and back into the corridor. Together, we stride through the corridors until we reach the Entrance Hall and walk out onto the grounds. A little way along the grounds, it becomes very evident that if Harry, Hermione, and Umbridge aren't in the forest, something certainly is, due to the shouting, yelling, and screaming.

"Yes, that'll be them," Ginny mutters.

Just outside the forest, we all stop, hesitating, looking uncertain. Then, I say, "Well, now or never, I suppose," and we walk into the forest. We follow the sound of the voices as best as we can, our wands tight in our hands, but it starts fading and becoming quieter and quieter, so that, along with the usual sounds of the Forest, it's very difficult to find them.

Finally, however, we hear a voice that is undeniably Hermione's hopelessly saying, "Well, we can't do anything without wands. Anyway, Harry, how exactly were you planning to get all the way to London?"

"Yeah, we were just wondering that," Ron calls, before stepping through a gap in the trees, followed by the rest of us.

Harry and Hermione aren't in a very good state, either. There are several cuts and scratches on them, and their clothes are dirt-stained.

"So," I say, ducking under a low-hanging branch and handing Harry and Hermione their wands, "got any bright ideas?"

"How did you get away?" Harry asks in amazement, as he and Hermione take their wands from me.

"Couple of Stunners, a Disarming Charm, Neville brought off a really nice little Impediment Jinx," Ron says airily. "But Ginny was best, she got Malfoy with a Bat Bogey Hex - it was superb, his face was covered in the great flapping things. Anyway, Luna saw you out the window heading off to the Forest, so we followed. What have you done with Umbridge?"

"She got carried away," Harry replies. "By a hard of centaurs."

"And they left you behind?" Ginny says, looking astonished.

"No, they got chased off by Grawp," Harry says.

"Who's Grawp?" Luna asks in interest.

"Hagrid's little brother," Ron replies promptly. "Anyway, Harry, what did you find out in the fire? Has You-Know-Who got Sirius, or - ?"

"Yes," Harry replies, "and I'm sure Sirius is still alive, but I can't see how we're going to get there to help him."

We all fall silent, looking around fearfully; the problem seems to be without a solution.

"Well, we'll have to fly, won't we?" Luna says, in the closest thing to a matter-of-fact voice I've ever heard her use.

"Okay," Harry begins irritably, "first of all, 'we' aren't doing anything, if you're including yourself in that, and second of all, Hazel and Ron are the only ones with a broomstick that isn't guarded by a troll, so - "

"I've got a broom!" Ginny says.

"Yeah, but you're not coming," Ron says angrily.

"Excuse me, but I care about what happens to Sirius just as much as any of you do!" Ginny protests, her jaw set so that her resemblance to Fred and George is suddenly striking.

"You're too - " Harry begins, but Ginny interrupts him.

"I'm three years older than you were when you fought You-Know-Who over the Philosopher's Stone, and it's because of me that Malfoy is back in Umbridge's office with giant bogies attacking him - "

"Yeah, but - "

"We were all in the DA together," Neville says quietly. "It was supposed to be about fighting You-Know-Who, wasn't it? And this is the first chance we've had to do something real - or was this all just a game or something?"

"No, of course it wasn't - " Harry begins impatiently.

"Then we should come, too," Neville interrupts simply. "We want to help."

"That's right," Luna says happily.

I bite my lip, exchanging side glances with Harry, Ron, and Hermione; I don't want any of them to get into danger, but the fact of the matter is that they're right, and we're going to need the extra help if we're going to be saving Sirius from Lord Voldemort, even if Luna, Neville, and Ginny aren't the most _ideal_ of helpers.

"Well, it doesn't matter, anyway," Harry says through gritted teeth, "because we don't know how we're going to get there - "

"I thought we settled that," Luna says maddeningly. "We're flying!"

"Look," Ron begins with barely contained anger, "you might be able to fly without a broomstick, but the rest of us can't sprout wings whenever we - "

"There are other ways of flying than a broomstick," Luna states serenely.

"I s'pose we're going to get on the back of a Kacky Snorgle, or whatever it is?" Ron says.

"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack can't fly," Luna says in a dignified manner, "but they can, and Hagrid said they're very good at finding whatever the rider is looking for."

I look up and find, to my surprise, two Thestrals standing between two trees, their white eyes gleaming eerily, watching our conversation as though they can understand every word.

"Yes!" Harry whispers, moving towards them, reaching forward and patting the nearest one's shining neck.

"Is those mad horse things?" Ron asks uncertainly, staring in the wrong direction. "The ones you can't see unless you've seen someone snuff it?"

"Yeah."

"How many?"

"Just two."

"Well, we'll need four," Hermione says, shaken but determined.

"Five, Hermione," Ginny scowls.

"Actually, I think there are seven of us," Luna says calmly, counting.

"Don't be stupid, we can't all go!" Harry says angrily. "Look, you three - " he points at Ginny, Luna, and Neville - "you're not involved in this, you're not - "

They burst into more protest. I'd really rather not have them come, as well, but it seems that just arguing about this is wasting more and more time, and Sirius is still in danger.

Harry seems to realise this, too, because he curtly says, "Okay, fine, it's your choice, but unless we can find more Thestrals, we're not going to be able to - "

"Oh, more of them will come," Ginny says confidently, looking in the completely wrong direction like her brother.

"What makes you think that?"

"Because, in case you hadn't noticed, you and Hermione are covered in blood, and we know Hagrid lures them with raw meat," Ginny says coolly. "That's probably what lured those two here in the first place."

As though to prove Ginny's point, the closest Thestral to Harry starts licking Harry's sleeve, which is covered in blood.

"Okay, then," Harry says, "Ron and I will take those two and go ahead, and Hermione can stay with you four and she'll attract more Thestrals."

"I'm not staying behind!" Hermione protests furiously.

"There's no need," Luna says, smiling. "Look, here comes more now... you two must really smell..."

She's right; no fewer than seven or eight Thestrals have turned up now, their great leather wings folded tightly to their bodies, their eyes gleaming through the darkness. We no longer have any excuse to have any of us stay behind.

"Alright," Harry says angrily, "pick one and get on, then."


	46. The Department of Mysteries

**Ours**

**Chapter Forty-Six: The Department of Mysteries**

 

I stare at my Thestral for a long time, trying to decide how to go about getting on it. It seems to like me, so I'm assuming I can get on without it throwing me off and killing me or something. Now if only I knew how to do so...

Finally, I wind my hand tightly in the mane of the Threstral, place one foot on a nearby stump, and scramble clumsily onto its silken back. It doesn't protests, to my relief. I shift around slightly so that I'm in a more comfortable position, then look around at the others. Neville has heaved himself onto the back of a Thestral and is trying to swing one short leg over the creature's back; Luna is sitting in place, side-saddled and adjusting her robes as though this is a daily occurrence for her; Harry, though he looks rather uncomfortable, is settled onto his Thestral, as well. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, however, are still standing motionless on the spot, open-mouthed and staring.

"What?" I say.

"How're we supposed to get on?" Ron says faintly. "When we can't see the things?"

"Oh, it's easy," Luna says, sliding off her Thestral and hurrying over to him, Hermione, and Ginny. "Come here..."

She pulls them over to the other Thestrals and one by one helps them mount their Thestral. All three of them look extremely nervous as she winds their hands into their mane and tell them to grip it tightly, before going back to her own Thestral and mounting it very casually.

"This is mad," Ron murmurs, moving his free hand gingerly up and down his Thestral's neck. "Mad... if I could just see it - "

"Let's hope you never do, yeah?" I say, rather darkly.

"We all ready, then?" Harry adds.

We all nod, our knees tightening beneath our robes.

"Okay," Harry says slowly, before looking down at his Thestral's glossy black head and swallowing. "Ministry of Magic, visitor's entrance, London, then. Er... if you know... where to... go..."

For a moment, Harry's Thestral doesn't do anything at all; then, with a sweeping movement that seems to nearly unseat him, the wings on either side extend. The horse crouches slowly, then rockets upwards quickly and steeply. The other Thestrals follow the first, so that I have to clench my arms and legs tightly around the Thestral to ensure that I don't just slide off and fall. I close my eyes and press my face into its mane as we burst through the topmost branches of the trees and burst into a blood-red sunset.

I don't think I've ever moved this fast before; the Thestrals streak over the castle, its wings barely beating. I often imagined just flying away from Hogwarts into a glorious sunset like Fred and George done; this, however, was not what I had in mind.

We're over Hogwarts grounds, we're passing Hogsmeade; I can see mountains and gullies below us whenever I allow myself to look down. As night begins to fall, I see small collections of light as we pass over villages, then a winding road through which a single car is making it way through the hills.

"This is bizarre!" I barely hear Ron yell from somewhere on my left. I suddenly feel a rush of pity for Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, imagining how awful it must be to be flying so high and so quickly without any visible means of support.

Twilight falls. The sky is turning a light, dusky purple littered with tiny stars, and soon only the lights coming from Muggle towns below give us any indication as to how far off the ground we are or how fast we're travelling. As I cling onto my Thestral, I will for them all to go even faster, because hours have passed since Harry saw Voldemort torture Sirius, who knows what could have happened in this time. If Voldemort killed Sirius...

 _Harry would know,_ I think, trying to reassure myself. _He would know._

On we fly through the increasingly dark night; my face feels stiff and cold, my limbs numb from gripping onto the Thestral so tightly, but I don't dare shift my position in the slightest in fear of falling. I've completely lost track of how far we've gone, of where we are, leaving all my faith into the creatures we're using to get us to the Ministry, hoping desperately that they'll get us there before it's too late.

My stomach gives a jolt; the Thestral's head is suddenly pointing towards the ground and I actually slide forward a few inches up its neck as a result. At last, we're ascending. I hear a shriek somewhere to my left and look around desperately, but I don't see anyone falling, so I tell myself repeatedly that whoever had screamed has just received a shock from the sudden change in direction.

And now bright orange lights are growing larger and rounder all around; I can see the tops of buildings, streams of headlights, squares of pale yellow that are windows. Quite suddenly, we're hurtling towards the pavement; I grip onto my Thestral's mane with all the strength I have, bracing myself for the sudden impact, but it lands on the ground as lightly as a shadow and I slide from its back rather clumsily, staggering around before regaining my balance, going to stand by Harry and looking around at the street, for the vandalized telephone box, drained of colour in the orange glare of the streetlights.

Ron lands a short way off and topples immediately from his Thestral onto the pavement.

"Never again," he mumbles, struggling to his feet. He makes as though to stride away from his Thestral, but being unable to see it, walks straight into its backside and almost falls over again. "Never, ever again... that was the worst - "

Hermione and Ginny touch down on either side of him. They both dismount a little more gracefully than Ron, though they both carry the same relieved expression to be on solid, visible ground. Neville jumps down, shaking, and Luna dismounts smoothly.

"Where do we go from here, then?" she asks Harry politely, as though this is nothing but an interesting day-trip.

"Over here," he replies; he gives his Thestral a quick, grateful pat, then leads the way quickly to the telephone box and opens the door. "Come on!" he urges us.

Immediately, I stride into the box, followed shortly by Ron and Ginny. Neville, Hermione, and Luna squash themselves inside after us. Harry glances backwards once more, then forces himself inside the box after Luna.

"Whoever's nearest to the receiver, dial six two four four two," Harry says.

Ron does it, his arm bending bizarrely to reach the dial; as it whirs back into place, the cool female voice says, "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry Potter, Hazel Knight, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger," Harry lists off quickly, "Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley... we're here to save someone, unless your Ministry can do it first!"

"Thank you," the voice says. "Visitors, please take your badges and pin them to the front of your robes."

Seven badges slide out of a metal shoot where return change usually goes. Hermione scoops them up and hands them mutely to Harry over Ginny's head.

"Visitors of the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

"Fine!" Harry says loudly. "Now can we move?"

The floor of the telephone box shudders and the pavement rises up past its glass windows, the scavenging Thestrals sliding out of sight, blackness closes over our heads, and with a dull, grinding noise we sink down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic.

A chink of soft golden light hits our feet, and, widening, rises up our bodies. I draw my wand instinctively and hold it as ready as I can in such cramped conditions. I peer through the glass to see if anybody is waiting for us at the Atrium, but it seems to be completely empty. The light is dimmer than it was by day; there are no fireplaces in the mantelpieces set into the walls, but as the lift slides smoothly to a halt, I notice that golden symbols continue to twist sinuously in the dark blue ceiling.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening," the cool female voice says.

The door of the telephone box bursts open, and we topple out of it. The only sound in the Atrium is the steady rush of water from the fountain, which jets from the wands of the witch and wizard, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and the house-elf's ears onto the surrounding pool.

"Come on," Harry says quietly, and the seven of us sprint down the hall, Harry in the lead, past the fountain towards the desk where a watchwizard should be to weigh visitors' wands, but is instead deserted.

I'm quite sure there ought to be a security person there, and their absence is nothing but an ominous sign to me, but we move ahead through the golden gates to the lifts. Harry presses the nearest 'down' button and a lift clatters into sight almost immediately, the golden grilles sliding apart with a great, echoing clanking noise and we dash inside. Harry stabs the number nine button, and the grilles close with a bang, the lift beginning to descend, jangling and rattling. I didn't realise the lifts were so loud the day of Harry's trial; I'm certain that it will raise ever security person in the building, but when the lift halts, the cool female voice says, "The Department of Mysteries," and the grilles slide open, nobody is there. We step out into the corridor where nothing is moving but the nearest torches, flickering in the rush of air from the lift.

"Let's go," Harry whispers, and he leads the way down the corridor. "Okay," he says, when we're a few feet from the door. "Maybe... maybe a couple of people should stay here as - as a lookout, and - "

"And how are we going to let you know someone's coming?" Ginny says, eyebrows raised. "You could be miles away."

"We're coming with you, Harry," Neville adds.

"Let's get on with it," Ron adds firmly.

Harry still looks to be very much against taking all of us, but he has no choice, especially not at this point, so he walks forward towards the door, which swings open quite easily. He marches over the threshold, the rest of us at his heels.

We're standing in a large, circular room. Everything in here is black, including the floor and the ceiling. Identical, unmarked, handle less doors are set at intervals all around the walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burn blue, reflecting the shiny marble floor in a way that makes it look like there's dark water below.

"Someone shut the door," Harry mutters.

This order proves to be a bad one the minute Neville obeys it; without the long chink of light from the torchlit corridor behind us, the room becomes so dark that we can't see anything but the bunches of shivering blue flames on the wall and our ghostly reflections in the floor.

Before any of us can make any decision about which of the dozen doors we should go through first, there's a great rumbling noise and the candles begin to move sideways; the circular wall is rotating. I grip onto Neville and Luna's arms suddenly, frightened that the floor might start spinning, too, but it doesn't. For a few moments, the blue flames around us start to resemble neon lines as the wall speeds around. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the rumbling stops and everything is quite still again.

"What was that about?" Ron whispers fearfully, as I release Neville and Luna's arms.

"I think it was to stop us from knowing which door we came through," Ginny says in a hushed voice.

I realise immediately that she's right. I can't locate the door through which we came any better than I can locate the one we need to go through to find Sirius.

"How are we going to get back?" Neville asks uncomfortably.

"Well, that doesn't matter now," Harry says forcefully, "we won't need to get out until we've found Sirius - "

"Don't go calling for him, though!" Hermione cuts in urgently, quite unnecessarily; it's quite clear to all of us that the best thing right now is to be as quiet as possible.

"Where do we go, then, Harry?" Ron asks.

"I don't - " he begins, then swallows, and that's when it becomes quite clear to me that though Harry has dreamed about this place for months, though he knows exactly where to find Sirius, he's just as lost as the rest of us as to how to get there. "In the dreams I went through a door at the end of the corridor from the lifts into this dark room - that's this one - and then I went through a different door into a room that kind of... glitters. We should try a few doors," he ads hastily. "I'll know the way when I see it. C'mon."

He marches straight towards the door now facing us, the rest of us following closely behind, sets his hand against the cool, shining surface, holds his wand at the ready with his other hand, and pushes. It swings open easily.

After the darkness of the last room, the lamps hanging on low, golden chains from the ceiling give the impression that this room is much brighter, but there's no glittering as Harry had indicated. The place is quite empty except for a few desks and, in the centre of the room, an enormous glass tank of a deep green liquid, big enough to swim in, though I'm not inclined to do that; a number of pearly-white objects are drifting around lazily in it.

"What're those things?" Ron whispers.

"Dunno," Harry says.

"Are they fish?" Ginny breathes.

"Aquavirius Maggots!" Luna says excitedly. "Dad said the Ministry were breeding - "

"No," Hermione interrupts. She sounds odd. Moving forward to look through the side of the tank, she says, "They're brains."

"Brains?" I repeat incredulously, moving forward to stand beside her.

Once I'm close to them, there's no denying that they are, in fact, brains. Glimmering eerily, they drift in and out of sight in the depths of the green liquid, looking something like slimy cauliflowers.

"Yes... I wonder what they're doing with them?"

"Let's get out of here," Harry says. "This isn't right, we need to try another door."

"There are doors here, too," Ron points out, pointing at the walls, and my heart sinks; just how big is this place?

"In my dream I went through that dark room into the second one," Harry insists. "I think we should go back and try from there."

So we hurry back into the dark, circular room.

"Wait!" Hermione says sharply, as Luna makes to close the door of the brain room behind us. " _Flagrate!_ "

She draws her wand in midair and a fiery 'X' appears on the door. No sooner has the door clicked shut than there's a great rumbling and once again the wall begins to revolve very fast, but now there's a great red-gold blur among all the blue, and when all becomes still again, the fiery 'X' still burns, showing the door we've already tried.

"Good thinking," Harry says appreciatively. "Okay, let's try this one - "

Again, he strides towards the door opposite to us, his wand still raised, the rest of us following closely behind.

This room is larger than the last, dimly lit and rectangular, and the centre of it is sunken, forming a great stone pit around twenty feet deep. We're standing on the topmost tier of what seems to be stone benches running all around the room and descending in steep steps like an  amphitheatre, or the courtroom which Harry had been tried by the Wizengamot. Instead of the chained chair, however, there's a raised stone dias in the centre of the pit, on which stands an ancient-looking archway, cracked and crumbling. The archway is hung by a tattered black veil which, in spite of the stillness of the cold air, is fluttering very slightly as though it's just been touched.

"Who's there?" Harry calls, jumping down onto the bench below. There's no answering voice, but the veil continues to flutter and sway.

"Careful!" Hermione whispers.

Harry scrambles down the benches until he reaches the stone bottom of the sunken pit. The rest of us follow him, but not quite as quickly as he had gone.

"Let's go. This isn't right, Harry, come on, let's go," Hermione calls, once we're halfway down, sounding frightened. When Harry doesn't say anything, she says, more forcefully, "Harry, let's go, okay?"

"Okay," Harry says, but he still doesn't move; then he frowns slightly and says, very loudly, "What are you saying?"

"Nobody's talking, Harry!" Hermione says, as we walk the rest of the way down to the pit.

"Someone's whispering behind there," he says, continuing to frown at the veil. "Is that you, Ron?"

"I'm here, mate," Ron says, appearing around the side of the archway.

"Can't anyone else hear it?" Harry demands, putting his foot on the dias.

"I can hear them, too," Luna breathes. "There are people in there!"

"What do you mean, 'in there'?" Hermione demands, sounding angrier than the situation warrants, "there isn't any 'in there,' it's just an empty archway, there isn't any room for anybody to be in there. Harry, stop it, cone away - "

"No," I say, shaking my head. "There are people, I can hear them, too."

Indeed, I can hear faint, murmuring noises from the other side of the veil, but after going around to the other side, I can see that nobody is there to be whispering. The whispering gets louder and louder, so that I hop into the dias to hear them better, but I still can't quite make out what they're saying.

"Who are you?" I say quietly, frowning.

I stare at the veil for what could be ages, entranced. The voices are enticing, inviting, and I desire nothing more than to walk through it and join them, whoever they are, wherever they are.

Then I remember why we're here in the first place. I realise that the voices are probably so hypnotizing for a reason, realise that the very last thing I should be doing is walking through that veil, and tear my eyes away from it. I hop down from the dias and go to join the others again.

"Let's go," I say, rather shortly. "In case you haven't noticed, this room doesn't glitter, so we're not going in the right direction."

When Harry still doesn't move, I grab into his arm.

"Harry, we're here to save Sirius, remember?" I say, slightly desperately. "Come on, we need to hurry."

"Sirius... yeah," Harry says, still gazing, mesmerized at the continuously swaying veil. Then, something seems to slide back into place, because he takes several steps away from the dias and tears his eyes away from the veil. "Let's go."

"That's what I've been trying to - well, come on, then!" Hermione says, and she leads the way back towards the dias.

Ginny and Neville are too standing, entranced, by the veil; Luna takes hold of Ginny's arm, Ron grabs Neville's, and they march them firmly back to the lowest stone bench and clamber all the way back up to the door.

"What d'you think that arch was?" Harry asks me as we return to the dark, circular room.

"I don't know, but whatever it was, it's dangerous," I say firmly, as Hermione inscribes another fiery cross on the door.

Once again, the wall spins and becomes still again. Harry approaches another door at random and pushes. It doesn't move.

"What's wrong?" Hermione says.

"It's... locked..." Harry says, throwing his eight against the Dior, but it doesn't budge.

"This is it, then, isn't it?" Ron says excitedly, joining Harry in the attempt to force the door open. "Bound to be!"

"Get out of the way," Hermione says sharply. She points her wand at the place where a lock would be in an ordinary door and says, " _Alohomora!_ "

Nothing happens.

"Sirius' knife!" Harry says.

He pulls it out of his pocket and slides it into the crack between door and wall. We all watch eagerly as he runs it from top to bottom, withdraws it, and slams his shoulder against the door. It remains shut. What's more, the blade of Sirius' knife has melted.

"Right, so we're leaving that door for now," I say matter-of-factly.

"But what if that's the one?" Ron says, looking at the door with a mixture of apprehension and longing.

"Can't be Harry could get through all the doors in his dreams," I say, while Hermione marks the door with another fiery cross.

"You know what could be in there?" Luna says eagerly, as the wall begins to spin again.

"Something blibbering, no doubt," Hermione says under her breath.

The wall comes to a halt again and Harry, bow looking as desperate as I feel, pushes the next door open.

"This is it!"

It does certainly seem to be it. The room is full with a beautiful, dancing, diamond sparkling light. Once my eyes become adjusted to the glare, I see clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between bookcases or standing on desks, so that a busy, relentless ticking fills the room. The source of the glittering comes from a towering crystal bell jar that stands in the far end of the room.

"This way!"

Harry leads the way down a narrow space between the lines if desks, heading for the source of light, the crystal bell jar that stands on a desk and seems to be full of billowing, glittering wind.

"Oh, look!" Ginny says as we draw nearer, pointing at the very heart of the bell jar.

Drifting along in the sparkling current is a tiny, jewel-bright egg. As it rises in the jar, it cracks open and a hummingbird emerges, which is carried to the very top of the jar, but as it falls on the draught its feathers become bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it's back to the bottom of the jar it has been enclosed once more in its egg.

"Keep going!" Harry says sharply, noticing that Ginny looks as though she wants to stay behind and watch the bird's progression in the jar.

"You dawdled enough by that old arch!" Ginny snaps, but follows him past the bell jar into the only door behind it.

"This is it," Harry says again, "it's just through here - "

I glance around; everyone looks as serious and anxious as I feel, wands at the ready. Harry pushes the door open, and it swings open. We're here, we've found the place; high as a church and full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty glass orbs. They glimmer dully in the light issuing from more candle-brackets set at intervals along the shelves. Like those in the circular room behind them, their flames are burning blue. It's very cold.

"Row ninety-seven you said it was, right?" I whisper, when Harry edges forward and peers down one of the shadowy aisles between two rows of shelves.

"Yeah," Harry breathes, looking at the end of the closest row. Beneath the branch of the blue-glowing candles protruding it glimmer the silver figure number fifty-three.

"We need to go right, I think," Hermione whispers, squinting to the next row. "Yes... that's fifty-four..."

"Keep your wands ready," Harry says softly.

We creep forward, glancing behind us as we go on down the long alley of shelves, the further ends of which are in near total darkness. Tiny, yellowing labels had been stuck beneath each of the glass orbs on the shelves. Some have a weird, liquid glow; some are as dull and dark within as blown out light bulbs. We pass eighty-four... eighty-five... I listen carefully for the sound of any voice, for any movement, but it's silent except for the sound if our footsteps. Then again, Sirius could be gagged, or unconscious.

 _Or,_ I think with a jolt,  _he could be dead._

But I shake the thoughts like this off as best as I can, because surely Harry would know.

"Ninety-seven!" Hermione whispers.

We stand grouped around the end of the row, gazing down the alley beside it. Nobody is there.

"He's right down at the end," Harry says. "You can't see properly from here."

And he leads us between towering rows of glass balls, some of which glowing softly as we pass.

"He should be bear here," Harry whispers. "Anywhere here... really close..."

"Harry?" Hermione says tentatively, but Harry does not respond.

"Somewhere... about... here..."

We reach the end of the row and emerge into more dim candlelight. There's nobody here. Everything is echoing, dusty silence.

"He might be..." Harry whispers hoarsely, peering down into the next alley. "Or maybe..." he hurries to look into the one beyond that.

"Harry?" I call, rather hesitantly.

"What!" he snarls, turning to face me.

"You talked to Kreacher in the fireplace, didn't you?" I say gently, taking a few steps towards him.

"Yes, and he said Sirius was gone and that he'd never return!" Harry says.

"House-elfs - house-elves are bound to serve their masters," I say. "Kreacher has to serve Sirius, he has to be honest with him... he doesn't have to do the same to you..."

"What're you saying?"

"I think you know what I'm saying, Harry," I say quietly.

Nobody speaks. After a moment, Harry runs up the space at the end of the rows, staring down them. I let out a small sigh, knowing he's not going to find any sign of Sirius, nor any sign of a struggle.

"Harry," Ron calls.

"What?"

"Have you seen this?"

"What?" Harry repeats, but more eagerly this tune; he strides back to where we're all standing, a little way down row ninety-seven, to find Ron staring up at one of the dusty glass spheres on the shelf.

"What?" Harry says once more, glumly this time.

"It's - it's got your name on it," Ron states.

Harry moves closer. Ron is pointing at one of the small glass spheres that seem to glow with an inner light, though it's very dusty and appears not to have been touched for a very long time.

"My name?" Harry says blankly.

He steps forward. I go to stand beside him and, since I'm not as tall as Ron, crane my neck to read the yellowish label affixed to the shelf beneath the dusty glass ball. In spidery writing is the date of some sixteen years previously, and below that:

_S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D._

_Dark Lord_

_and (?) Harry Potter_

"What is it?" Ron says, sounding unnerved. "What's your name doing down there?"

He glances along at the other labels on the stretch of shelf.

"I'm not there," he states, sounding perplexed. "None of the rest of us are here."

"Harry, I don't think you should touch it," Hermione says sharply, as Harry stretches out his hand.

"Why not?" he says. "It's something to do with me, isn't it?"

"Don't, Harry," Neville says suddenly. I look at him to find that his round face is shining slightly with sweat, looking as though he cannot take the suspense.

"It's got my name on it," Harry says; and so his fingers close around the dusty ball's surface, lifts it from the shelf and stares at it. I expect for something very big and dramatic to happen. On the contrary, however, nothing happens whatsoever. We close in around Harry, gazing at it as he brushes off the dust. And then, from behind us, a drawling voice speaks.

"Very good, Potter, now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me."

Black shapes are emerging out of thin air all around us, blocking our way left and right; eyes glint through slits in hoods, a dozen lit wands are pointing directly at our hearts; Ginny gives a gasp of horror.

"To me, Potter," repeats the drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy, as he holds out his hand, palm up.

My heart twists with fear, my eyes glued onto the Malfoy.

"To me," Malfoy says, yet again.

"Where's Sirius?" Harry asks.

Several of the Death Eaters laugh; a harsh female voice from the midst of the shadowy figures to my left says triumphantly, "The Dark Lord always knows!"

"Always," Malfoy echoes softly. "Now, give me the prophecy, Potter."

"I want to know where Sirius is!"

"I want to know where Sirius is!" the woman mimics.

She and her fellow Death Eaters have closed in so that they're now only a mere few feet away from us, the light from their wands dazzling my eyes.

"You've got him," Harry insists. "He's here. I know he is."

"The little baby woke up fwightened and fort what he dweamed was twoo," the woman says in a mock, horrible babyish voice. Ron and I stir slightly.

"Don't do anything,"  Harry mutters, clearly having noticed. "Not yet - "

The woman let's out a raucous stream of laughter.

"You hear him? You hear him? Giving instructions to the other children as though he thinks of fighting us!"

"Oh, you don't know Potter as I do, Bellatrix," Malfoy says softly. "He has a great weakness for heroics; the Dark Lord understands this about him. Now give me the prophecy, Potter."

"I know Sirius is here," Harry says. "I know you've got him!"

More of the Death Eaters laugh again, the woman loudest of all.

"It's time you learned the difference between dreams and reality, Potter," Malfoy says. "Not give me the prophecy, or we start using wands."

"Go on, then," Harry says, raising his wand to chest height, the rest of us following his lead. But the Death Eaters do not strike.

"Hand over the prophecy and no one need get hurt," Malfoy says coolly.

It's Harry's turn to laugh.

"Yeah, right!" he says. "I give you this - prophecy, is it? And you'll just let us skip off home, will you?"

"Accio Proph - " the woman shrieks as soon as the words are out of Harry's mouth, but he's ready for her.

He shouts, " _Protego!_ " before she'd finished her spell, and though the sphere slips to the tips of his fingers, he manages to cling onto it.

"Oh, he knows how to play, little bitty baby Potter," she says, mad eyes staring at him through the slits in her hood. "Very well, then - "

"I TOLD YOU, NO!" Malfoy roars at her. "If you smash it - "

My mind starts racing, my eyes sweeping over the assembled Death Eaters. Clearly, they want this prophecy, and very desperately, too, no doubt for Lord Voldemort... surely we could use this against them somehow... sure, they have us surrounded and outnumbered and know terrible Dark magic, but still,  _we_ have something that  _they_ want...

The woman steps forward, away from her fellow Death Eaters, and lowers her hood. Azkaban has hollowed Bellatrix Lestrange's face, making it gaunt and skull-like, but it is alive with a feverish, fanatical glow.

"You need more persuasion?" she says, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Very well - take the smallest one," she orders the Death Eaters around her. "Let him watch while we torture the little one. I'll do it."

Instinctively, we close in around Ginny, and Harry steps sideways so that he's standing right in front of her, the prophecy held to his chest.

"You'll have to smash this if you want to attack any of us," he tells Bellatrix. "I don't think your boss will be too pleased if you don't come back with it, do you?"

She doesn't move, simply staring at Harry.

"So," Harry says, almost conversationally, "what kind of prophecy are we talking about, anyway?"

Clearly, Harry is stalling for time, for which I'm grateful, because I'm still clueless as to how we're going to get out of this one.

"What kind of prophecy?" Bellatrix repeats. "You jest, Harry Potter."

"Nope, not jesting," Harry says, as my eyes flicker from Death Eater to Death Eater, trying to find a weak link, a space through which we can escape. "How come Voldemort wants it?"

Several Death Eaters let out low hisses.

"You dare speak his name?" Bellatrix whispers.

"Yeah," Harry confirms, tightening his hold on the sphere. "I've got no problem with saying Vol - "

"Shut your mouth!" Bellatrix shrieks. "You dare speak his name with your unworthy lips, you dare besmirch it with your half-blood's tongue, your dare - "

"Did you know he's a half-blood, too?" Harry interrupts, and I bite down on my lip nervously, unsure if this is the best way to keep then talking. "Voldemort? Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a Muffle - or has he been telling you lot he's a pjre-blood?"

" _STUPEF -_ "

"NO!"

A jet of red light shoots from Bellatrix's wand, but Malfoy deflects it; his spell causes hers to hit the shelf a foot to the left of Harry and several of the glass orbs there shatter.

Two figures, pearly-white as ghosts, fluid as smoke, unfurl themselves from the fragments of broken glass on the floor and each begin to speak, their voices vied with each other, so that only fragments of what they're saying be heard over Malfoy and Bellatrix.

"... at the solstice will come a new..." says the figure of an old, bearded man.

"DO NOT ATTACK! WE NEED THE PROPHECY!"

"He dares - he dares - " shrieks Bellatrix incoherently, "he stands there - filthy half-blood - "

"WAIT UNTIL WE'VE GOT THE PROPHECY!"

"... and none will come after..." says the figure of a young woman.

The figures that had burst from the shattered pieces of the sphere melt into thin air. Nothing remains of them or what used to be their homes but fragments of glass on the floor.

"You haven't told me what's so special about this prophecy I'm supposed to be handing over," Harry points out.

"Do not play games with us, Potter," Malfoy says.

"I'm not playing games," Harry states, just as his foot presses down upon my toes.

I give a sharp intake of breath, before saying, loudly as I dare and barely moving my lips, "What?"

"Dumbledore never told you the reason you bear that scar was hidden in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries?" Malfoy sneers.

"I - what?" Harry says. "What about my scar?"

"What?" I repeat, more urgently.

"Can this be?" Malfoy says, maliciously delighted.

Some of the Death Eaters are laughing again, and under the cover of their laughter, Harry mutters to me, "Smash shelves - "

"Dumbledore never told you?" Malfoy repeats. "Well, this explains why you didn't come earlier, Potter, the Dark Lord wondered why - "

" - when I say now," Harry finishes.

" - you didn't come running when he showed you the place where it was hidden in your dreams. He thought natural curiosity would make you want to hear the exact wording... "

"Did he?" Harry says, a little louder than normal, allowing me to pass on the message to Ginny without the Death Eaters hearing. "So he wanted me to come and get it, did he? Why?"

"Why?" Malfoy sounds incredulously delighted. "Because the only people permitted to retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, Potter, are those about whom it was made, as the Dark Lord discovered when he attempted to use others to steal it for him."

"And why did he want to steal a prophecy about me?"

"About both of you, Potter, about both of you... haven't you ever wondered why the Dark Lord tried to kill you as a baby?"

"Someone made a prophecy about Voldemort and me?" Harry says quietly. "And he's made me come and get it for him? Why couldn't he come and get it himself?"

"Get it himself?" Bellatrix shrieks, letting out a mad cackle. "The Dark Lord, walk into the Ministry of Magic, when they are so sweetly ignoring his return? The Dark Lord, reveal himself to Aurors, when at the moment, they're wasting their time on my dear cousin?"

"So, he's got you doing his dirty work for him, has he?" Harry says. "Like he tried to get Sturgis to steal it... and Bode?"

"Very good, Potter, very good..." Malfoy says slowly,l. "But the Dark Lord knows that you are not unintelligent - "

"NOW!" Harry yells.

Six different voices bellow, " _REDUCTO!_ "

Six curses fly in six different directions and the shelves explode as they're hit by the curse; the towering structure sways as a hundred glass spheres burst apart, pearly-white figures unfurl in mid-air and float there, their voices echoing amid the torrent of crashing glass and splintered wood raining down upon the floor.

"RUN!" Harry shouts, as the shelves sway precariously and more glass spheres begin to fall from above.

I seize a handful of Neville's robes and push him in front of me, holding an arm over my head as chunks of shelf and shards of glass thunder down on us. A Death Eater lunges himself at us. I point my wand at him and cry, " _Impedimenta!_ " which knocks the Death Eater backwards. We're all yelling, there are cries of pain, and thunderous crashes as the shelves collapse upon themselves. We find the way ahead clear and see Ron, Luna, and Ginny sprint past, their arms over their heads; I feel a hand catch me by the shoulder, look around and see the face of another masked Death Eater. Neville, however, cries " _Relashio!_ " and the hand releases me at once.

"Nice one, Neville," I say breathlessly, grab onto his arm, and quicken my pace, feeling very glad that I'm a fast runner.

We're at the end of row ninety-seven. I urge Neville onwards, see Harry and Hermione ahead of us, and in front of them, the door from which we had come, slightly ajar. I push Neville through the door before me, turn around, see the Death Eaters catching up to us, and quickly perform a Smashing Spell on the nearest shelf I'd learned from Fred and George last year, causing glass spheres to explode and what's left of the shelf to collapse down upon the Death Eaters, before hurtling myself into the door after Neville, Harry slamming it shut.

" _Colloportus!_ " Hermione gasps, and the door seals itself shut with an odd squelching noise.

"Wha - what was that spell?" Harry asks of me.

"When you're friends with Fred and George," I say breathlessly, "it's inevitable to learn how to blow stuff up."

"When'd you learn that one?" he says.

"Last year," I gasp. "Where - where are the others?"

I had thought Ron, Ginny, and Luna were in front of us, that they were waiting for us in here, but there's nobody except for us.

"They must have gone the wrong way," Hermione whispers, terror clear on their face.

"Listen!" Neville hisses; footsteps and shouts are echoing from the other side of the door.

I put my ear to the door and hear Malfoy yell, "Leave, Nott, leave him, I say - his injuries will be nothing to the Dark Lord compared to losing that prophecy. Jugson, come back here, we need to reorganise! We'll split into pairs and search, and don't forget, be gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary - Bellatrix, Rodolphus, you take the left; Crabbe, Rabastian, you go right - Jugson, Dolohov, the door straight ahead - Macnair and Avery, through here - Rookwood, over there - Mulciber, come with me!"

"What do we do?" Hermione asks Harry, trembling from head to foot.

"Well, we don't stand here waiting for them to find us, for a start," Harry replies. "Let's get away from this door."

We run as quietly as we can, past the shimmering bell jar where the egg is hatching and unhatching, towards the exit in the circular hallway at the far end of the room. We're almost there, when we hear something large and heavy slam against the door Hermione charmed shut.

"Stand aside," says a rough voice. " _Alohomora!_ "

As the door flies open, Harry, Hermione, Neville, and I dive under desks. I can see the bottom of the two Death Eaters' robes, their feet moving rapidly.

"They might've run straight through to the hall," the rough voice points out.

"Check under the desks," says another.

I see the knees of the Death Eaters' bend; then I hear Harry's voice cry, " _STUPEFY!_ "

A jet of red light seems to hit one of the Death Eaters, because he falls backwards into the grandfather clock and knocks it over. I crawl a little bit out from under my desk, trying to get an aim at the second Death Eater, who's trying to get Hermione.

" _Avada -_ "

Harry launches himself out from under his desk and grabs the Death Eater around the knees, causing him to topple over and make his aim go awry.

Neville overturns a desk in his anxiety to help, points his wand at the struggling pair, and cries, " _EXPELLIARMUS!_ "

The wands of both the Death Eater and Harry fly out of their hands and soars back to the entrance of the room with the prophecies; both scramble to their feet and chase after their wands, Neville bringing up the rear, evidently horror-struck at what he had done.

"Get out of the way, Harry!" Neville yells determinedly, and Harry dives out of the way just as Neville cries, " _STUPEFY!_ "

The jet of red light flies right over the Death Eater's shoulder and hits a glass-fronted cabinet full of hour-glasses in varying shapes and sizes; the cabinet falls to the floor and bursts apart, glass flying everywhere, springs back up to the wall, fully mended, then falls down again and shatters.

Just as the Death Eater snatches back his wand and is about to say a spell, Hermione and I catch up to them, point our wands at him, and scream, " _STUPEFY!_ "

The two jets of red light hit him, making him freeze, his arm still raised; his wand falls to the floor with a clatter and he collapses backward into the bell jar. I expect to hear a clunk, but instead his head sinks through the surface of the bell jar and comes to rest, sprawled on his back on the table, with his head lying inside the jar of glittering wind.

"Accio wand!" Hermione says, and Harry's wand flies into her hand and she tosses it to him.

"Thanks," he says gratefully. "Right, let's get out of - "

"Look out!" Neville cries, looking horrified, staring at the Death Eater's head in the bell jar.

The four of us raise our wands again, but none of us strike. Instead, we all gaze, open-mouthed and appalled, at what's happening ti the Death Eater's head. It's shrinking very fast, growig balder and balder, the black hair and stubble retracting into his skull. His cheeks are becoming smooth, his skull rounded and covered with a peach-like fuzz...

A baby's head is now sitting grotesquely on top of the thick, muscled neck of the Death Eater as he struggled to get up again; but as we watch, our mouths open, the head begins to swell to previous proportions again, thick black hair sprouting on his head and chin...

"It's time," I whisper, awestruck. "Time..."

The Death Eater shakes his head again, trying to clear it, but before he can pull himself together, his head is shrinking back down to babyhood again...

There's a about from a nearby room, then a crash and a scream.

"RON?" Harry yells, turning away to the source of the noise. "GINNY? LUNA?"

"Harry!" Hermione screams.

The Death Eater has pulled his head out of the jar. His appearance is utterly bizarre, his tiny baby's head bawling loudly while his thick arms flail dangerously in all directions, narrowly missing Harry, who ducks right on time. Harry raises his wand, but Hermione, to my amazement, seizes his arm.

"You can't hurt a baby!"

There's no time to argue the point, because I can hear footsteps growing louder and louder from the Hall of Prophecies and I realise that Harry's shouting has completely given away our location.

"Come on!" he urges, and leaving the baby-headed Death Eater staggering and flailing behind us, we take off to the door that stands open on the other side of the room, leading back into the black hallway.

We have run halfway towards it when we see through the open door two Death Eaters running across the dark room towards us. Veering left, we burst instead into a small, cluttered office, and Harry slams the door shut behind us.

" _Collo -_ " Hermione begins, but before the spell can be completed, the door bursts open and the two Death Eaters come hurtling inside.

" _IMPEDIMENTA!_ " they cry triumphantly.

Harry, Hermione, Neville, and I are all thrown backwards off our feet; Hermione and Neville are thrown over the desk and disappear from sight; Harry slams into the stone wall; and I smash into a bookcase, and before I can recover, all of the bookcase's very large, very heavy books are falling onto me, along with one of the wooden shelves that had seemingly been threatening to fall off for a long time. Dazed and in shock and pain, I momentarily forget my surroundings.

"WE'VE GOT HIM!" yells one of the Death Eaters. "IN AN OFFICE OFF - "

"Silencio!" Hermione cries, and though the man's mouth continues to move, no sound is issued from it.

He's thrust aside by his fellow Death Eater.

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ " Harry shouts, and I start looking around desperately for my own wand, which was knocked under my hand when I slammed into the bookcase.

The Death Eater's legs and arms snap together and he falls down, face forward onto the rug at Harry's feet, stiff as a board.

"Well done, Ha - "

Before Hermione can finish her sentence, the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb makes a sudden slashing movement with his wand; a streak of what looks like purple flame passes right across Hermione's chest. She gives a tiny 'Oh!' as though surprised, then crumples to the floor, where she moves no more.

 


	47. Beyond the Veil

**Ours**

**Chapter Forty-Seven: Beyond the Veil**

 

"HERMIONE!"

Harry drops to his knees beside her, while Neville crawls rapidly from under the desk, the Death Eater kicking hard at Neville while he tries to do so, breaking Neville's wand in two and connecting with his face. Neville let's our a howl of pain and recoils, clutching his mouth and nose. The Death Eater rips off his mask and points his wand at Harry, and I recognise his long, pale, twisted face from the Daily Prophet: Antonin Dolohov, the one who had killed the Prewetts.

Dolohov grins, then uses his free hand to point at the prophecy still clutched tightly in Harry's hand, then at Hermione. Though he can no longer speak, his meaning is perfectly clear: Give me the prophecy or you'll end up like her.

"Like you won't kill us, anyway, the minute I hand it over!" Harry yells, an almost unnoticeable edge of panic in his voice.

"Whaddever you do, Harry," Neville says fiercely, lowering his hand slightly to show a clearly broken nose and blood pouring down his mouth and chin, "don'd gib it to him!"

I look at Hermione, panic and fear rising rapidly through me. She could not be dead, she couldn't be... then I look at Dolohov, who had done... well, whatever it is he had done to Hermione, and didn't seem to be feeling any guilt, who seems to be able to act as though situation is funny, and I know immediately what I have to do.

"You  _bastard_!" I scream.

Unable to find my wand, I seize the wooden shelf that had fallen on me, decide it's large enough, and rise to my feet, running towards the silent Death Eater, who turns around just in time to receive the shelf swing ferociously by me straight in the face. He staggers backward, clutching his face, but I don't give him time to recover, sending another blow his way. I continue to hit him with all my might until he drops to the floor, and even then, the only reason I stop is because when I bring the shelf back in the air to hit him again, someone snatches it from behind me.

I whip around furiously to find Neville standing there holding it.

"Neville, what are you doing?" I demand.

"He's already unconscious," Neville insists. "Besides, Herbione's hurt."

"Hermione," I repeat, my anger replaced with that fear and panic once more.

Without further ado, I sprint across the room towards Hermione, dropping to my knees across from Harry, Neville dropping down beside me.

"Hermione, wake up," Harry says desperately.

"Whaddid he do to her?" Neville says.

"I dunno..."

Neville gropes for Hermione's wrist.

"Dat's a pulse, Harry, I'b sure id is."

Relief so powerful washes over me that, for a moment, I feel light-headed.

"She's alive?" I say in a hushed voice.

"Yes, I dink so," Neville confirms.

There's a small pause in which I listen hard for the sound of more footsteps, but all I can hear is the sound of the blundering and whimpering of the baby-headed Death Eater in the next room.

"Tha - that was a good hit," Harry says, rather weakly, to me. "You'd make a fair Beater."

I smile weakly, breathing out a small laugh.

"Thanks, but I'll stay Chaser for now," I say. "I'm pretty sure I almost threw my back out with that first hit."

There's another small pause, before Harry says, "You know, we're not that far from the exit, we're right next to that circular room... if we can just get you two across it and find the right door before anymore Death Eaters come, I'll bet you can get Hermione down the corridor into the lift... then you can find someone... raise the alarm..."

"And whad are you going do do?" Neville demands, wiping at his bloody nose with his sleeve.

"I've got to find the others."

"Well, I'b going do find dem wid you," Neville says firmly.

"Yeah, you can count me in, too," I say matter-of-factly.

"But Hermione - "

"We'll dake her wid us," Neville says. "I'll carry her - you two are bedder at fighding dem dan I ab - "

He stands up and seizes one of Hermione's arms, glaring at Harry, who hesitates, then grabs the other and helps hoist Hermione's horridly limp form over Neville's shoulders.

I get to my feet, then suddenly feel very light-headed, staggering slightly before bringing my arms up to steady myself. I bring my hand up to the back of my head, feel a sharp pain, and bring it back down to find blood. I have no idea how I didn't notice that until now, but there's nothing to be done about it until we get back to Hogwarts, so, ignoring the pain that is now becoming fully noticeable, I walk over to the bookcase and finally retrieve my wand.

"Wait," Harry says, snatching up Hermione's wand and handing it to Neville, "you'd better take this."

Neville kicks aside the broken fragments of his own wand as we walk slowly towards the door.

"My gran's going to kill be," Neville says, "dat was my dad's old wand."

Harry sticks his head out the door and peers around cautiously, and I peer through the crack nervously. The baby-headed Death Eater is screaming and banging into things, toppling grandfather clocks and overturning desks, while the glass-fronted cabinet that I'm starting to think contains Time-Turners continues to fall, shatter, and repair itself on the wall.

"He's never going to notice us," Harry whispers. "C'mon... keep close behind me..."

We creep out of the office and towards the door of the black hallway, which now seems to be completely deserted. We walk a few steps forward, Neville tottering slightly due to Hermione's weight; the door of the Time Room swings shut behind us and the walls begin to rotate once more. I struggle to keep my balance when it does, and feel even more grateful than usual when it stops - until I realise that Hermione's fiery crosses have faded from the doors.

"So which way d'you reck - ?"

But before the sentence can be finished, a door springs open and three people fall out of it.

"Ron!" Harry croaks, dashing towards them. "Ginny - are you all - ?"

"Harry," Ron says, giggling weakly, lurching towards him, seizing the front of his robes, and gazing at him with unfocused eyes, "there you are... ha ha ha... you look funny, Harry... you're all messed up..."

Ron's face is very white and something dark is trickling from the corner of his mouth. Next moment, his knees have given way, but he stays clutching onto Harry's robes, so that he's pulled into a kind of bow.

"You sure it's Harry who's messed up?" I say nervously, focusing my question on Ginny and Luna.

Ginny, however, shakes her head and slides down the wall into a sitting position, panting and clutching onto her ankle.

"I think her ankle's broken, I heard something crack," Luna states, seeming to be the only one who's unhurt. "Four of them chased us into a dark room full of planets; it was a very odd place, some of the time we were just floating around in the dark - "

"Harry, we saw Uranus up close!" Ron says, still giggling feebly. "Get it? We saw Uranus - ha ha ha - "

" - anyway, one of them grabbed Ginny's foot, I used the Reductor Curse and blew Pluto up in his face, but..."

Luna gestures hopelessly at Ginny, who's breathing shallowly, her eyes still closed.

"And what about Ron?" Harry asks fearfully, as Ron continues to giggle, still hanging off the front of Harry's robes.

"I don't know what they hit him with," Luna admits sadly, "but he's gone a bit finny, I could hardly get him along at all."

"Harry," Ron says in an audible whisper, bringing Harry's ear down to his mouth and still giggling, "you know who this girl is, Harry? She's Loony... Loony Love good... ha ha ha..."

"We've got to get out of here," Harry says firmly. "Luna, can you help Ginny?"

"Yes," Luna replies, sticking her wand behind her ear, then putting an arm around Ginny's waist and pulling her to her feet.

"It's only my ankle, I can do it myself!" Gunny says impatiently, but next moment she collapses sideways and clutches onto Luna for support.

Harry pulls Ron's arm over his shoulder. I look around the room; we need to get out of here as quickly as possible, with so many of us injured, but there's a small chance we'll pick the right door on the first try. We're a few feet from a door, when another door across the hall bursts open and three Death Eaters rush in, Bellatrix Lestrange leading.

"There they are!" she shrieks.

Stunning Spells shoot across the room. Harry smashes his way through his door, flings Ron unceremoniously from him, and ducks back inside to help Neville with Hermione. We all cross the threshold just in time to close the door on Bellatrix Lestrange.

" _Colloportus!_ " Harry shouts, and we hear three bodies slam against the door on the other side.

"It doesn't matter!" says a man's voice. "There are other ways in - WE'VE GOT THEM, THEY'RE IN HERE!"

I spin around; we're back in the brain room, and sure enough, there are doors all around the walls. I can hear footsteps on the other side of the door as more Death Eaters go to join the original three.

"Hazel - Neville - Luna - help me!"

The four of us tear across the room, sealing doors as we go; I nearly trip over a desk in my haste to get to the next door. There are footsteps running along behind the doors, every now and then a heavy body would launch itself against the wall, so it creaks and shudders, causing me to quicken my pace, my fear and panic level rising erratically.

As I reach the very top of the room, I hear Luna cry, "Collo - aaaaaargh..."

I turn just in time to see her flying across the room; five Death Eaters are surging into the room through the Dior she hadn't been quick enough to seal. Luna hits a desk, slides over its surface and onto the other side where she lay sprawled, as still as Hermione.

"Get Potter!" Bellatrix shrieks, running at him; he dodges and sprints back down the room.

"Hey!" Ron says, having staggered to his feet and tottering drunkenly towards Harry. "Hey, Harry, there are brains in here, ha ha ha, isn't that weird, Harry?"

"Ron, get out of the way, get down - "

But Ron is already pointing his wand at the tank.

"Honest, Harry, they're brains," Ron insists. " _Accio brain!_ "

The scene seems to freeze momentarily. Harry, Ginny, Neville, each of the Death Eaters, and I all turn in spite of ourselves to watch the top of the tank as a brain bursts from the green liquid like a leaping fish; for a moment, it's suspended in midair, then it soars towards Ron, spinning as it goes, and what looks to be ribbons of moving images fly from it, unravelling like rolls of film.

"Ha ha ha, look at it - " Ron says, watching it intently. "Harry, come and touch it, I bet it's weird - "

"RON, NO!"

I don't know what will happen if Ron touches the tentacles of the flying brain, but it can't be anything good. I run towards him, outstretching my arms to push him out of the way, but he has already outstretched his own hands and caught the brain. The moment it makes contact with Ron's skin, the tentacles begin wrapping themselves around Ron's arms like ropes.

"Harry, look what's happen - no - no - I don't like it - no, stop, stop - "

But the thin ribbons are now spinning around Ron's chest; he tugs and tears at them as the brain wraps itself tight against him.

" _Diffindo!_ " Harry yells, trying to sever the tentacles, but they would not break.

As Ron falls over, still thrashing in his bonds, I cry, " _Relashio! RELASHIO!_ " but it's no good, they won't break.

"Harry, it'll suffocate him!" Ginny screams, still immobile due to her broken ankle - then a jet of red light from one of the Death Eater's wands hits her squarely in the face, and she keels over sideways and lays unconscious.

"STUBEFY!" Neville shouts, wheeling around and waving Hermione's wand at the oncoming Death Eaters. " _STUBEFY! STUBEFY!_ "

But nothing happens. Death Eaters start sending Stunning Spells towards Neville, so Harry and I turn to help him out, the three of us being the only three left that are able to fight the Death Eaters. Harry runs for it as Bellatrix comes running towards him, holding the prophecy high above his head. The Death Eaters streak after him, sending chairs and tables flying but not daring to send a hex his way in fear of breaking the prophecy, and so he dashes through the only open door.

With the Death Eaters now gone, we focus our energy on getting the tentacles of the brain off of Ron, but nothing that we do does anything but loosen them up a little.

"I'b going to help Harry," Neville says, straightening up after five minutes of struggling and cursing and desperation. "You stay here, you can help him bedder than I can."

Before I can argue or protest, he raises Hermione's wand and charges out of the room.

I look at the open door for a moment, before turning back to Ron and groaning, "Oh, Ron... I know you're a bit loopy, but why would you see a bunch of suspicious, squishy-looking stuff in a tank and want to touch it?"

Again, I keep trying to loosen the bonds around Ron, but I can't do much; only enough to ensure he doesn't suffocate which I suppose is somewhat useful. I only stop when I hear Bellatrix's voice.

"No, no, no. No, let's see how long until Longbottom cracks like his parents... unless Potter wants to give us the prophecy."

"DON'D GIB IT DO DEM!" Neville roars, and I stand very slowly. "DON'D GIB IT DO DEM, HARRY!"

"I'm sorry, Ron," I say quietly, turn on my heel, and sprint out the door right on time to see Bellatrix Lestrange raise her wand at Neville.

I barely register the fact that we're back in the room with the veil, that Harry is standing on the dias with the prophecy still clutched in his hand, I barely notice most of the assembled Death Eaters, only Bellatrix with her wand pointed at Neville's pale face.

" _Cruci -_ "

" _IMPEDIMENTA!_ " I scream, pointing my wand at her.

In fear and panic, the spell does not send her flying like I wanted it to, but it does freeze her momentarily, and it does get her attention off of Neville and on me, which had been the plan. When she's unfrozen, she looks up at me from the bench that she's on, her heavily hooded eyes looking at me with an evil sort of amusement on her face.

"Aah, look at that, the little girl thinks she can fight," she drawls. When I do nothing but look down at her, she says, "What's your name, girl?"

"Hazel Knight," Lucius Malfoy replies, before I can.

"Knight?" Bellatrix repeats, her lip curling, as she walks back up the benches towards me very slowly. "Well, that makes sense. Your pathetic parents had a preference for the heroics too; why do you think they are where they are? The Dark Lord paid them a visit long ago, did you know?"

"I've heard," I say dryly, ignoring the feeling of fear rising inside me, ignoring that my mouth feels impossibly dry, that my heart is pounding wildly in my chest.

"He wanted to kill you, too, but the Aurors showed up, and he decided you were not worth it," she continues. "How would it be if I was the one who finished the job for him, if I was the one who wiped off your filthy bloodline once and for all?"

"Well," I muse, "you'd have to catch me first."

I jump down onto the bench below, then walk backwards, not taking my eyes off Bellatrix, my wand pointed at her. She strikes first.

" _Crucio!_ "

I duck, then, still on the ground, point my wand at her and yell, " _Stupefy!_ "

She deflects it with her wand. I scramble to my feet and send her another curse, which she deflects. She sends a Killing Curse my way this time, and I manage to duck out of the way right on time, before again pointing my wand at her and yelling, " _IMPEDIMENTA!_ " at the same time she yells, " _CRUCIO!_ "

Our spells meet in the middle, and now it's only a matter who can hold out better and for longer. I clutch onto my wand tightly with both hands, my face screwed up in concentration as I focus all my energy into my wand, willing for the spell to out power Bellatrix's. She's just about to win, when I let out a slightly frustrated, "Come on!" and put all my remaining energy into the spell, and luck seems to favour me at last, because my spell beats hers, and this time, she goes flying backwards, but not as much as it would've in different circumstances.

She gets back to her feet quickly, breathing heavily, looking at me furiously. I do not back down, approaching her slowly, pointing my wand at her once more.

Before I can give any sort of spell, however, someone grabs onto me from behind and bats my wand away. I struggle against their grip, elbowing and kicking desperately, but they grab onto my hair, twist it in their hands and yank on it. I let out a strangled yelp of pain.

"Ha! You think that hurt?" Bellatrix shrieks, now with an insane sort of delight, approaching me with her wand pointed at me. "I've changed my mind, let's see how long it takes until the girl cracks... until she joins her parents...  _Crucio!_ "

I knew it was coming the moment the Death Eater behind me grabbed onto me. I knew it was coning as she approached me, her wand raised. I knew it was coming and I tried to brace myself, but there is no preparing for this kind of pain, for it's so intense, so all-consuming... my very bones are on fire, white-hot knives seem to be piercing every inch of my skin, surely no human can tolerate this kind of pain... I'm screaming louder than I ever have in my life. I writhe against the Death Eater, wanting it to end, no matter what it takes to end it.

And suddenly, it stops, and my entire body gives a violent shudder, before I fall limp against the Death Eater, gasping for breath, and it registers in a part of my mind that I'm crying - no, sobbing.

"That was just a taster!" Bellatrix says. "Now, Potter, give us the prophecy, or watch your friend die the hard way!"

Harry holds out the prophecy, Malfoy jumping to take it, and I want to scream at him not to do it, but I can't find my voice.

Then, high above us, two more doors burst open and five people sprint into the room: Remus, Sirius, Moody, Kingsley, and Tonks.

Malfoy turns and raises his wand, but Tonks has already sent a Stunning Spell right at him. I don't check to see whether or not it has made contact, because the Death Eater that has a hold on me has loosened it in their surprise, and I jump upon the opportunity. With my remaining strength, I push them off of me and punch them. It's not the hardest I could've possibly done, but it's enough. I run away from him as fast as I can, staggering slightly, trying to find my wand.

Finally, I find it beneath one of the benches and dive for it. I grab onto it, then take the moment to control my breathing completely, stop crying, and wipe the tears from my eyes. Once I've gotten myself under control, I get to my feet, looking for Harry and Neville.

Before I can find them, though, a voice behind me calls, "Hazel!"

I hold back from screaming with difficulty, whipping around and saying, " _Petrificus -_ Remus!"

For it's him, not a Death Eater like my mind had immediately thought. I lower my wand, but still hold it at the ready.

"Hazel, quickly, you have to find the others and get out of here  _now!_ "

"Yes, I'm going, I just can't find Harry and Neville anywhere... they've - "

"Duck!" Remus suddenly says sharply.

I feel slight confusion, but obey anyway, ducking down just as Remus points his wand and aims a curse at someone behind me. When I get to my feet, I see a Death Eater, seeming to be stunned, on the floor.

"Thank you - wait, no, look out," I say, raising my wand and pointing it at one of the two approaching us.

Remus turns around and points his wand at the other, and together, the two of us duel the two Death Eaters, until I send mine flying across the room and he puts a Leg-Locker curse on his, Disarming the Death Eater, too. Remus promptly turns to me afterwards.

"Hazel, you have to round up the others and get out of here," Remus says urgently. "Never mind this, we'll take care of it, you just need to find the others and get to school and quickly."

"I know," I say. "I just - I was looking for Harry and Neville - but they've disappeared in all this chaos  and - duck!"

Remus obeys, and I send a Full-Body Bind towards the Death Eater I had been duelling before, as he had come back, staggering slightly but still managing to send a jet of green light towards Remus, which he dodges just in time. Remus springs back up, looks at the Death Eater I had cursed, and says approvingly, "Well done."

In spite of the situation, I grin at him.

"Thanks, I've been working at it for ages," I state. "But, yes, I haven't a clue where Harry and Neville are."

"Last I saw them they were over there," Remus replies, jerking his head in the direction across the room. "Go on, hurry. You've done brilliantly, but let us take care of it."

I hesitate for a moment, before nodding and hurrying away, running in the direction that Remus had indicated. As I run, I look around frantically, trying to find Harry and Neville. As I run, a jet of green light narrowly misses me.

"Petrificus Totalus!" I yell, pointing my wand in the direction that it had come.

I already know that it hasn't hit, but it's enough to have distracted the Death Eater and allow me to keep running. I dodge a Cruciatus Curse sent my way, send a Stunning Spell in its general direction but don't bother to check, because at last I've found Harry and Neville. I quicken my pace, hurrying to a halt in front of them.

"Harry - Neville - I'm so glad I found you - listen, we need to get out of here and quick - what happened to tou?" I say ti Neville, noticing that his legs are twitching and jerking rapidly of their own accord; it seems to me that he's been hit with  _Tarantallegra._

"He was jinxed," Harry replies.

"Well, yes, I can see  _that,_ " I say impatiently. "Oh, never mind - Neville, can you still walk?"

"I - I dink so," Neville replies.

"Brilliant," I say breathlessly. "Great. Here, I'll help you."

I seize Neville by the shoulder that Harry hadn't taken, and together we lift him bodily onto the first tier of stone steps, then we heave again with all the strength we have and climb another step.

A spell hits the bench at Harry's heel, crumbling it away and causing him to fall back into the step below; Neville sinks to the ground, his legs still thrashing.

"Come on," I say desperately. "Just try and push with your kegs, Neville, please - "

Harry and I give another heave and Neville's robes tear all along the left seam. The prophecy, which had apparently been in his pocket beforehand, drops, and before any of us can catch it, one of Neville's floundering feet kicks it. It flies ten feet to our right and smashes on the step beneath us. As the three of us stare at the place it had broken, appalled at what we're seeing, a pearly-white figure with hugely magnified eyes rises into the air, unnoticed by anybody but us. I can see its mouth moving, but with all the noises of the battle, I can't hear anything. The figure soon stops speaking and dissolved into nothingness.

"Harry, I'b sorry!" Neville cries, face anguished and legs still floundering. "I'b so sorry, Harry, I didn'd bean do - "

"It doesn't matter!" Harry shouts. "Just try and stand, let's get out of - "

"Dubbledore!"

"What?" I say, bewildered.

"DUBBLEDORE!" Neville repeats, his sweaty face suddenly transported, staring over Harry's shoulder.

I turn to look around at where Neville's staring. Standing there, framed by the doorway of the Brain Room, is Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. The panic and fear that I've been feeling ever since Harry had told us about his dream seems to melt away. We are saved.

Dumbledore speeds down the steps past us; he's already at the foot of the steps when the Death Eater's nearest realise he's there and yell to the others. One of the Death Eaters run for it, but Dumbledore sends him a spell that sends him back as easily as though he had hooked him with an invisible line.

Only one pair is still battling, apparently unaware of their new arrival. I see Sirius duck under Bellatrix's jet of red light, laughing at her. I don't feel like laughing, watching them; I feel anxious. All I know is that Sirius is too close to that veil, that he needs to get far, far away, and oddest of all I'm thinking of my dream, because even though it isn't a door, I don't like to think of what would happen if Sirius went through that veil.

"He needs to get away," I say softly, releasing Neville without realising and taking a step forward, my eyes glued to Sirius.

"What?"

"He needs to get away," I repeat. "He's too close to the veil - it's dangerous."

"Come on, you can do better than that!" Sirius yells at his cousin, his voice echoing in the cavernous room.

I've gone down two of the benches when the second jet of light hits him squarely in the chest. The laughter doesn't die from his face, though his eyes widen in shock.

Harry too releases Neville, jumping down the steps again, as Dumbledore turns towards the dias.

It seems to take a century for Sirius to fall; his body curves into a graceful arch as he sinks backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch.

I see the look of mingled fear and surprise on Sirius Black's wasted, once-handsome face as he falls through the ancient veil and disappears behind it; the veil flutters for a moment, as though in a high wind, before falling back into place.

Bellatrix let's out a triumphant scream, and I want to believe that he will appear on the other side of the veil, ready to continue fighting, but I know he won't. I don't know what that arch is, but I know that you don't come back once you go through it.

I know that Sirius Black is gone. Dead.

"SIRIUS!" Harry yells. "SIRIUS!"

He has reached the archway, looking around desperately. He sprints around the dias, but Remus grabs him around the chest, holding him back.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry - "

"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through - "

" - it's too late - "

" - we can save him - " Harry struggles viciously, but Remus does not let go.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry... nothing... he's gone."

Harry refuses to believe it, continuing to fight Remus with all the strength he has.

"He hasn't gone!"

Hardly realising what I'm doing. I walk towards them, clenching my hands into fists to stop them from shaking, pressing my lips into a tight line to stop them from quivering.

"Harry," I say softly. "He - once you go through the veil, you don't come back, he's - "

"SIRIUS!" Harry bellows. "SIRIUS!"

"He can't come back, Harry," Remus insists, his voice breaking as he struggles to contain Harry. "He can't come back, because he's d - "

"HE - IS - NOT - DEAD!" Harry roars. "SIRIUS!"

Remus drags him away from the dias, Harry still fighting desperately and viciously against Remus, as I follow them, I realise I'm crying. Horrified, I wipe my tears away quickly.

Dumbledore has most of the Death Eaters grouped in the middle of the room, seemingly immobilized by invisible ropes; Mad-Eye has crawled across the room, retrieving Tonks, who has been Stunned; and Kingsley has run forward to continue Sirius' duel with Bellatrix.

"Harry?"

Neville has come to join us. Harry is no longer struggling against Remus. Perhaps he has realised what has happened to Sirius. Regardless, Remus has a precautionary grip on him.

"Harry... I'b really sorry..." Neville says, his legs still dancing uncontrollably. "Was dat man... was Sirius Black a - a friend of yours?" Harry nods.

"Here," Remus says quietly, points his wand at Neville's legs, and says, " _Finite._ "

The spell is lifted. Neville's legs fall back to the floor and remain still. Remus' face is very pale.

"Let's - let's find the others. Where are they all?"

"Dey're all back dere," Neville says. "A brain attacked Ron bud I dink he's alrighd - and Herbione's unconscious, bud we could feel a bulse - "

There's a loud bang and a yell from behind the dias. I see Kingsley hit the ground, yelling in pain, and Bellatrix turning and running as Dumbkedore whips around. He aims a spell at her, but she deflects it, halfway up the steps now.

"Harry - no!" Remus cries, but Harry has already ripped himself out of Remus' slackened grip.

"SHE KILLED SIRIUS!" he bellows. "SHE KILLED HIM - I'LL KILL HER!"

With that, he starts running after Bellatrix.

"HARRY!" I cream, and go to run after him, but Remus grabs onto my arm.

"Hazel - no! Please - Hazel - no," he says.

I look around at him and want to tell him that that's my best friend, that Bellatrix will without a doubt try and kill Harry, but when I look at Remus, none of these words come to mind. I look at his pained, pale face, and do not say anything, do not do anything but fall limp against his grip.

Dumbledore turns to Remus.

"See to it that Miss Knight, Mr. Longbottom, Miss Granger, Miss Lovegood, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Weasley all return to Hogwarts safely."

Remus nods once.

"And what will you do? What about Harry?"

"I," Dumbledore says heavily, "am going to do what I should have done a long time ago and fix an old man's mistake."

With that, he hurries out of the room as Bellatrix and Harry had done.

There's a pause, in which I look at the archway in which Sirius had disappeared, in which he will never return, finding it harder to breathe, finding it harder not to cry. Then I look back at my godfather, who had been best friends with Sirius.

"Remus," I begin, though I have no idea what to say after that, have no idea what to say to a person in a situation like this.

He spares me the trouble, however, by speaking before I can think of something.

"Come on, Hazel, Neville," he says, "let's go find the others."

I want to say something, I want to comfort him, especially since he has managed to do this to me so many times, but I have no idea what there can be to be said, so I just nod and follow behind Remus, Neville beside me, forcing myself not to cry.

 

***

 

_HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS_

"'In a brief statement on Friday night, Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returns to this country and is once more active.

"'"It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord - well, you know who I mean - is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the Dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe the Dementors are currently taking direction from Lord - Thingy.

"'"We urge the magician population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defence which will be delivered free to all wizarding homes within the coming month."

"'The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was " no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumours that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more".

"'Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, though it is believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening.

"'Albums Dumbledore, newly reinstated Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has so far been unavailable for comment. He has insisted over the past year that You-Know-Who is not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but is recruiting followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize power. Meanwhile, the " Boy-Who-Lived" - ' There you are, Harry, I knew they'd drag you into it somehow," Hermione says, looking over the top of the paper at him.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and I are in the hospital wing, listening to Hermione read the article aloud. Harry and I are sitting on the foot of Ron's bed (my head had been mended easily, though Madam Pomfrey insisted that I stay for two days); Ginny, whose ankle had been mended immediately, is curled up at the foot of Hermione's bed; Neville, whose nose had returned to its normal shape and size, is in a chair between the two beds; Luna had just dropped in, reading  _The Quibbler_ and not seeming to be listening to a word Hermione is saying.

"He's the 'Boy-Who-Lived' again now, is he?" Ron says darkly. "Not such a deluded show-off anymore, eh?"

He helps himself to a few Chocolate Frogs from the immense pile on his bedside table, throws a few to Harry, Neville, Ginny, and I, and rips off the wrapper of his own with his teeth. There are still deep welts in his forearms where the brain's tentacles had wrapped around him. According to Madam Pomfrey, thoughts can leave deeper scarring than anything else, but there does seem to be some improvement.

"Yes, they're very complimentary about you now, Harry," Hermione says, scanning down the article. "'A lone voice of truth... perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story... forced to bear ridicule and slander...' Hmm," she says, frowning. "I notice they don't mention that it was them doing all the slandering."

She winces slightly and outs a hand to her ribs. The curse Dolohov had put on her, while much less effective than it would've been had he been able to say it out loud, had nevertheless caused, to quote Madam Pomfrey, 'quite enough damage to be doing on with'. Hermione has to take ten different types of potions a day, is improving greatly, and is already bored with the hospital wing.

"You-Know-Who's last attempt to take over, pages two to four; What the Ministry Should Have Told Us, page five; Why Nobody Listened to Albus Dumbledore, page six; Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter, page nine... well," Hermione says, folding up the newspaper and throwing it aside, "it's not that exclusive, its the one that was in  _The Quibbler_ months ago."

"Dad sold it to them," Luna says vaguely. "He got a very good price for it, too, so we're going on an expedition to Sweden this summer to see if we can find a Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Hermione seems to struggle with herself for a moment, before saying, "That sounds lovely."

I look down at my shoes to keep myself from catching anyone's eye and laughing.

"So, anyway," Hermione says, sitting up straighter and wincing again, "what's been happening in the school?"

"Well, Flitwick got rid of Fred and George's swamp," Ginny reolies, "he did it in about three seconds. But he left a tiny patch under the window and he's roped it off - "

"Why?" Hermione says, startled.

"He just says it was a good bit of magic," Ginny replies, shrugging.

"I think he left it as a monument to Fred and George," Ron says. "They sent me these, you know," he says, pointing at the small mountain of Frogs beside him. "Must be doing alright with that joke shop, eh?"

"So, has all the trouble stopped now that Dumbledore's back?" Hermione asks.

"Oh, yeah," I say, nodding, "everything's calmed down again."

"I s'pose Filch is happy, is he?" Ron says, propping a Chocolate Frog Card featuring Dumbledore against his water jug.

"Not at all," Ginny replies. "He's really, really miserable, actually..." she lowers her voice to a whisper. "He keeps saying Professor Umbridge is the best thing that ever happened to Hogwarts..."

We all look around. Professor Umbridge is lying in a bed opposite us, gazing up at the ceiling. Dumbledore had strode into the forest to rescue her from the centaurs; nobody can figure out how Dumbledore had managed to return without so much as a scratch on him, and Umbridge is certainly not telling. No one knows what happened to  _her,_ either; her usually neat, mousy brown hair is untidy and has bits of twigs and leavea in it, but other than that, she's entirely unscathed.

"Madam Pomfrey says she's just in shock," Hermione whispers.

"Sulking, more like," Ginny says.

"Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this," Ron says, and he makes soft clip-clopping noises with his tongue. Umbridge sits bolt upright, looking around wildly.

"Anything wrong, Professor?" Madam Pomfrey calls, poking her head around her office door.

"No... no..." Umbridge says, sinking back into her pillows. "No, I must have been dreaming..."

Hermione and Ginny muffle their laughter into their bedclothes.

"Speaking of centaurs," Hermione says, when she has recovered, "who's teaching Divination now? Is Firenze staying?"

"He's got to," Harry says, "the other centaurs won't take him back, will they?"

"I reckon they'll just split the job," I say. "That's what I heard from Lavender and Parvati, anyway."

"Bet Dumbledore wishes he could've gotten rid of Trelawney for good," Ron says. "Mind you, the whole subject's useless if you ask me, Firenze isn't a lot better..."

"How can you say that? After we've just found out there are real prophecies?" Hermione demands. Then she says, rather quietly, shaking her head, "it is a pity it broke."

"Yeah, it is," Ron agrees. "Still, at least You-Know-Who never found out what it was, either - where are you going?" he adds, looking both surprised and disappointed as Harry stands up suddenly.

"Er - Hagrid's," Harry says. "You know, he just got back and I promised I'd go down and see him and tell him how you two are."

"Oh, alright," Ron says grumpily, looking out the window. "Wish we could come."

"Say hello to him for us!" Hermione calls, as Harry proceeds down the ward. "And ask him what's happening about his... little friend!"

Harry gives a wave of his hand to show that he understands, then disappears out the door.

"Something's wrong with him," Ron says, several moments after Harry has left.

"Yeah, and it's pretty obvious what, isn't it?" I say. "Not only is there sone great, big prophecy about him and Voldemort that he might never know about, Sirius is gone."

"I just wish he'd talk to us, though," Hermione sighs, then winces again.

"So dk I," I agree, looking at the door through which Harry had disappeared through moments ago. "Give him time, though. He won't want to say anything this early, he'll just want to be alone."

What I want to know, however, is how much time it takes for the pain to have lessened enough to talk about it.

 

***

 

Ron and Hermione leave the hospital wing completely cured three days before the end of term. Hermione shows every sign if wanting to talk about Sirius, but Ron and I give her very obvious hints to drop it whenever she brings it up.

Professor Umbridge leaves Hogwarts the day before the end of term. It seems that she had crept out of the hospital wing during dinner, hoping to go unnoticed, but she met Peeves on the way, and he seizes his last chance to do what Fred had instructed, and chases her gleefully from the orenesis, whacking her alternately with a walking stick and a sock full of chalk. Many students run out into the Entrance Hall to watch her running down the path and the Head of Houses only try half-heartedly to stop them. In fact, McGonagall sinks back into her place at the staff chair after a few feeble reprimands and is clearly heard to express great regret that she can not run after Umbridge herself, because it's her walking stick that Peeves is using.

Our last evening at school arrives, which means the end-of-term leaving feast, but I'm not at all in the mood for it. Gryffindor wins, due to a great amount of points McGonagall had given Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and I (she had also given points to Luna) for our services at the Department of Mysteries, but the victory isn't as great as it usually is, and it's especially brought down by Dumbledore's speech about Voldemort's return, though I know it is a speech that needs to be made.

While I listen carefully to Dumbledore's words, I look around at the Hall, counting surprised faces, counting fearful faces, counting unsurprised faces, and counting resentful faces, and winder just how Hogwarts is going to cone out at the end of this war.

 

***

 

The journey home on the Hogwarts express is eventful in a few ways. Firstly, we hear a commotion outside our compartment when Harry had gone to the bathroom, and when Ron and I walk out to investigate, we see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Boyle, all resembling giant slugs, and Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein, and Terry Boot all pointing their wands at them.

"I must say, I'm looking forward to see the look on Malfoy's mother's face when he gets off the train," Ernie says in satisfaction; he had never gotten over Malfoy docking points from Hufflepuff during his brief spell as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad.

"Goyle's mum will be really pleased, though," Ron says. "He's loads better-looking now... anyway, Harry, the food trolley's just stopped if you want anything..."

Harry thanks the others and accompany Ron and I back to our compartment, where he buys a great deal of food from the trolley. Hermione is reading the Daily Prophet again, Ginny is taking a quiz in The Quibbler, and Neville is stroking his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, which has grown a great deal over the course of the year and now makes an odd crooning noise whenever touched.

Harry and Ron spend most of the day playing wizard's chess, while I alternate between watching their games and looking at articles in The Quibbler with Ginny, and Hermione occasionally reads snippets from the Prophet, which is now full of articles on how to repel Dementors, attempts by the Ministry to track down Death Eaters, and hysterical letters from readers that say they saw Lord Voldemort walk past their house that very morning.

"It hasn't really started yet," Hermione says gloomily, folding up her newspaper again. "But it won't be long now."

"Hey, Harry," Ron says softly, nodding towards the glass window on to the corridor.

I look round. Cho is passing, along with Marietta Edgecombe, who is wearing a balaclava. Cho's eyes meet Harry's for a moment, before she blushes and looks away. Harry looks down to see one of his pawns being chased off its square by Ron's knight.

"What's - er - what's going on with you and her, anyway?" Ron asks quietly.

"Nothing," Harry replies.

"I - er - I've heard she's seeing someone else now," I inform him tentatively.

"You're well out of it, mate," Ron says forcefully. "I mean, she's quite good looking and all that, but you might want somebody a bit more cheerful."

"She's probably cheerful enough with somebody else," Harry shrugs.

"Who's she with now, anyway?" Ron asks me, but it's Ginny who answers.

"Michael Corner."

"Michael - but - " Ron cranes around in his seat to stare at her. "But you're going out with him!"

"Not anymore," Ginny says resolutely. "He didn't like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho."

Ron looks highly delighted.

"Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot," he says, prodding his queen forward to Harry's quivering castle, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes, smiling slightly. "Good for you. Just choose someone - better - next time."

He casts Harry an oddly furtive look as he says that.

"Well, I've chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he's better?"

"WHAT?" Ron shouts, upending the chessboard; Crookshanks plunges after the pieces and Midnight, Hedwig, and Pigwidgeon twitter and hoot angrily overhead.

As the train slows down in the approach to King's Cross, I think about how odd it is that throughout the year, I thought over and over again about wanting to leave, about breaking out, and now that the time has come to leave, I've never wanted to leave less.

When the ticket inspector signals to Ginny, Neville, and I that it's safe to walk through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten, I'm greeted with the Dursleys and the Martins, but also with a pleasantly surprising group of people; there's Mad-Eye Moody, looking more sinister with a bowler hat pulled low over his face than he would've without the hat and with his magical eye in full sight; Tonks stands just behind him, her hair as bright pink as ever, wearing heavily patched jeans a bright purple Weird Sisters T-shirt; next to her is Remus, his face pale, his hair greying, a long and threadbare overcoat over his shabby jumper and trousers; at the front of the group is Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and (my heart leaps) Fred and George, wearing new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material.

"Ron, Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley calls, hurrying forward and hugging her children tightly. She gives me a tight hug, before turning to Harry and saying, "Oh, and Harry dear - how are dear?"

"Fine," Harry replies.

I hurry over to Fred and George, hug the both of them, and quickly kiss the former, wishing that there were not so many people around so that I can kiss him for longer, because being in his arms and kissing him like that again after so long, after everything that happened, is nothing short of bliss.

"Oh, how are you two? How's the shop?" I say, beaming up at them, then look at their jackets again and realise that it's probably dragonhide. "Well, not too badly, clearly, if that's what I think it is."

"And what do you think it is?" Ron demands, goggling at their clothes.

"Finest dragonskin, little bro'," Fred says, confirming my theory. "Business is booming and we thought we'd treat ourselves."

After a moment, I walk over to Remus, hug him, then look at him closely when we pull away, worried about how he's been holding up since what happened to Sirius.

"How are you?" I ask, giving him a meaningful sort of look.

"Fine," he replies, smiling, and though there seems to be a great deal of lies in that, there's also enough truth for me to nod and smile at him, saying that I'm glad.

He turns to greet Harry, who says, "Hi. I didn't expect... what are you all doing here?"

"Well," Remus replies with a small smile, "we thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home."

"I dunno if that's a good idea," Harry says immediately.

"Oh, I think it is," Moody growls, limping a little closer. "That'll be then, will it, Potter?"

He points his thumb over his shoulder; his magical eye is evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. I lean an inch to the left to see where Mad-Eye is pointing and there, sure enough, are the three Dursleys, who look positively appalled to see Harry's reception committee.

"Ah, Harry!" Mr. Weasley says, turning from enthusiastically greeting Hermione's parents, who are now taking it in turns to hug Hermione. "Well... shall we do it, then?"

"Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur," Moody replies.

He and Mr. Weasley lead the way across the station towards the Dursleys, who are apparently rooted to the floor. Hermione disengages herself gently from her mother to join the group.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Weasley says pleasantly to Vernon as he comes to a halt right in front of him. "You might remember me, my name's Arthur Weasley."

As Mr. Weasley had singlehandedly demolished most of the Dursleys' living room two years ago, it's very unlikely that Vernon would have forgotten him. Sure enough, he turns a deeper shade of purple and glares at Mr. Weasley, but decides against saying anything, maybe because the Dursleys are outnumbered two to one. Petunia looks both frightened and embarrassed; she keeps glancing around, as though terrified somebody she knows will see her in such company. I kind of hope someone will. Dudley, meanwhile, seems to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feet at which he is failing almost embarrassingly.

"We thought we'd just have a few words with you about Harry," Mr. Weasley says, still smiling.

"Yeah," Moody growls. "About how he's treated when he's at your place."

Possibly because the bowler hat gave him the mistaken impression that he is dealing with a kindred spirit, Vernon addresses himself to Moody.

"I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house - "

"I expect what you're not aware of would fill several books, Dursley," Moody interrupts.

"Anyway, that's not the point," Tonks interjects, whose pink hair seems to offend Petunia more than the rest of them combined, because she closes her eyes instead of looking at her. "The point is, if we find out you've been horrible to Harry - "

"And make no mistake, we'll hear about it," Remus adds pleasantly.

"Yes," Mr. Weasley says, "even if you won't let Harry use the felly-tone - "

"Telephone," whispers Hermione.

"Yeah, if we get any hint that Potter's been mistreated in any way, you'll have us to answer to." Moody says.

Vernon's outrage seems to outweigh even his fear of a group as strange as this one.

"Are you threatening me, sir?" he demands, so loudly that passers-by actually turn to stare.

"Yes, I am," said Mad-Eye, who actually seems pleased that Vernon has grasped the fact so quickly.

"And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?" Vernon barks, and I grin; he's asked exactly the wrong question.

"Well..." Moody says, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. Vernon leaps backwards in horror and collides with a luggage trolley. "Yes, I'd have to say you do, Dursley."

He turned away from Vernon to survey Harry.

"So, Potter... give us a shout if you need us. If we don't hear from you for three days in a row, we'll send someone along..."

Petunia whimpers piteously. It's very plain that she is already thinking about what the neighbours would say if they saw these strange people walking up their garden path.

Behind the Dursleys are the Martins, Aunt Daisy and Uncle Gabriel watching the scene in horror, while Candy is watching it with barely restrained amusement.

"Ah, we were hoping they'd be here," Fred says, nodding at then.

"Why?" I ask suspiciously, looking between the two of them.

"We've been waiting four years to do this, Knight," George says in reply, before the two of them begin walking towards the Martins.

"I think we should go in on this one, too," Remus states, smiling slightly, and so he and the rest of the group follow Fred and George.

"Do what - what are you planning - wait a minute," I say, slightly anxiously, hurrying after them.

"So, you'll be Daisy and Gabriel?" Fred says briskly, looking between Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Daisy.

"And if we are?" Uncle Gabriel says fiercely.

"Oh, this one's brave," George says boredly, jerking his thumb in the direction of Uncle Gabriel.

"See, the thing is, we've heard about the way you've been treating Hazel," Fred says. "And we don't much like it."

"Not at all," George confirms. "And if we hear any other bad reviews, then you'll make an enemy out of us."

" _All_ of us," Tonjs adds matter-of-factly.

"And, believe me, that's the last thing you want," Fred finishes. "So, you'd better make sure we don't hear anything bad - "

"Because if something happens, we  _will_ hear," Remus adds pleasantly.

" - and you won't like what happens to you," George finishes.

"What exactly are you saying?" Uncle Gabriel demands.

"Are you even more stupid than Dursley, or what?" Moody demands impatiently. "We're threatening you, what else?"

"I'll have you know, sir - " Uncle Gabriel begins loudly.

"This doesn't have to be complicated," Fred cuts in pleasantly. "Just treat Hazel well, and we'll have no problem."

"Treat her badly, though..." Remus continues, "well, things  _will_ be a bit more complicated for you."

"Oh, and don't prevent her from writing, either, because if we don't hear from her for three days in a row, we'll send someone along, see what's going on, and take her away - after we give you a slight surprise, though," Mr. Weasley adds.

"So, do we have a deal?" George says.

"Or do we need to spell it out for you?" Fred says, a slightly threatening tone to his voice.

Aunt Daisy let's out a little squeak; Candy is trying not to grin; and Uncle Gabriel looks as though he wants to argue, realises he can't win, and lets out a furious grunt of assent.

"Excellent," George says cheerfully, and people break into last minute goodbyes.

I walk towards Fred and George and shake my head at them, smiling.

"You shouldn't have," I insist. "I've survived long enough - "

"And you shouldn't have had to," George says firmly. "And if they've got any common sense, you won't have to anymore."

I smile wider, before hugging each of them again and whispering, "Thank you."

"Bye, Hazel," Remus says quietly. "Keep in touch, alright?"

"Of course," I say, nodding.

"We'll take you away from them as soon as we can, okay, Hazel?" Mrs. Weasley whispers, hugging me again.

"We'll see you two soon, yeah?" Ron says, shaking Harry's hand, then mine.

"Really soon," Hermione adds earnestly. "We promise."

I nod. I don't know what I can say to thank them for what has happened, for the fact that my heart is swelling with affection, so I don't.

Instead, I turn to the Martins and say, grinning, "Friends of mine. Brilliant, aren't they?" Then, I raise my hand in farewell to the gathered group, beaming, and say briskly, once my hand is back down, "Well, come on, then, we haven't got all day."

I seize my trunk and Midnight's cage and walk out of the station into the sunlit street, Harry by my side, and the Dursleys and the Martins hurrying along in our wake.


End file.
